


wayward bound

by yuudoufu



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "can you find all the symbolism and foreshadowing and tiny details i left in this fic" challenge, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Antarctic Empire, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Fireworks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Post-DSMP Election, Symphonic Formatting, Tags Contain Spoilers, Villain Technoblade, War, its up to you whether or not the ends justifies the means really, or maybe he's just a morally grey character, the child stabs some shit and regrets it, toffee swirls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27694691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuudoufu/pseuds/yuudoufu
Summary: “You are aware that you sent achildto a one man war, right?”Not even a beat of silence or ounce of hesitation before, “And?”“A child, Techno. You sent Tommy, who’s barely eighteen years of age to assassinate the president of his home country.”There’s a low chuckle, golden apple gleaming into Phil’s eyes from where Techno holds it. “It was his choice to go to battle himself. I asked him, Phil, if he wanted my aid, and he politely declined. What more do you want me to do?”//there are no children in war,only men who grew up too quickly...(an unfinished symphony in four parts)
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 37
Kudos: 241
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	1. Op. 48: I. Allegro

**Author's Note:**

> first of all: BIG BIG shout out to my betas [@heymetamooki](https://twitter.com/heymetamooki) and [@ivory_zenith](https://twitter.com/ivory_zenith) on Twitter!
> 
> second of all: i compiled a playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6rVGF8GxTmZbtiymlVrGc0?si=Vk0wy-RPSCiD3QwJn5wt1w) it has all instrumental music so you can listen along while you read (p.s. it's also in order of the events, and i picked them out to match the mood haha)
> 
> lastly: heeeeey, this took me 3 months i hope you enjoy it as much as i did when writing it :)

_**FIRST MOVEMENT: NO. 1** _

.

.

.

When Schlatt takes over the position as president, his first decree causes the core of the nation to shudder and cry, stating:

“As President of L’Manburg, -- the emperor of this country -- is to revoke the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit!” 

Rain falls from the sky and bites through the fabric of Tommy’s uniform as he stares up incredulously, jaw unhinged and eyes wide. Tubbo’s head whips around to his side, shoulders stiff. Tommy can barely see the scenery in front of him, his gaze glazing over with black creeping at the corners, threatening to devour his vision. He stumbles back a bit, rain running down his cheek. 

No, this couldn’t - he swallows thickly, turning toward Wilbur and mirroring his expression - this couldn’t be. Was it too late to take back power? It was a democratic election, but if- if- if he could- could-

“Tommy, we’ve got to go.”

There’s a jerk on his arm, a hand wrapping harshly around his wrist and tugging him, pulling him with the ferocity of a thousand horses. Tommy’s legs tangle over each other along the rain-slicked grass, tripping over his own shoes as they attempt to catch up with the direction of movement. 

And they’re running before he knows it - he and Wilbur, running and stumbling and panting as they flee from the place they had once called home. 

“Wilbur,” Tommy’s voice quavers while he blinks through the frigid droplets of rain, “Wilbur, Wilbur, what do we do?” Is it the rain or tears trickling down Wilbur’s darkened face? He couldn’t tell even if he squinted hard enough. Surely, surely, it was the rain. His president couldn’t be _crying_ , right?

Wilbur doesn’t respond to him, continuing through the buildings erected and dragging Tommy into Eret’s tower. It’s empty, thank the gods. They halt in front of the stone walls, peering down below at the inauguration while George and Quackity load their crossbows. 

“Tubbo,” Schlatt continues from below, beckoning the boy toward the podium. He looks bigger now, larger, taller than Tommy remembers. He continues to grow as the words leak from his mouth like foul molasses, shoulders broadening and his shadow seeming to cover the entirety of the tower and all the buildings below it. Terrifying, unlike how Tommy once perceived him. All the tendencies of an idol Tommy had admired in Schlatt disappears as a distraught Tubbo runs and nearly trips over himself, making his way to the stage.

Even from a distance, Tommy can spot Tubbo’s eyes dilate in fear like a helpless animal. He bets Tubbo’s hands are shaking; his own are, after all. 

Schlatt gives his signature grin -- all teeth, no smile, dripping with animosity. Before, Tommy found it admirable, but now, pointed at Tubbo, it suddenly didn’t seem so great to him anymore. The newfound president of L’Manburg towers over Tubbo’s smaller stature and his mouth opens to a voice that rolls out like soft and deadly thunder, echoing off the blackstone walls, “I need you to show Tommy the door. Go on now, Tubbo. Find him. And bring him home.” 

Even from the height in where he stands, Tommy can see Tubbo’s eyes dilate, head turned helplessly to stare Schlatt in the eyes as the man grins back with a sleazy smile, dripping with malice and all. Tubbo’s jaw unhinges, but no words come out. 

“I need you to show him the door. Go on now. Find him and bring him home.” 

Tommy doesn’t know how long he zones out, eyes locked onto Tubbo’s body as he turns around like a wind-up toy being manipulated, legs buckling slightly while he makes his way down the steps. He’s flanked by George and Quackity. They move swiftly, ender pearling to the few buildings in front of Wilbur and Tommy. 

“...mmy! Tommy!’ Wilbur shakes him by the shoulders aggressively, water soaking his hair and making it cling desperately to his forehead. His eyes are clouded with hurt and despair before they flicker toward the horizon. 

“Listen to me, Tommy. Listen.” 

“I’m listening,” Tommy gulps down, nearly choking on his words, “I’m listening.” 

“The forest. You and I go separate ways and we meet at the base and run. Okay? Run and don’t look back. Tubbo is on their side now, understand? You can’t… don’t… don’t stop even for him. Keep running.” 

His bottom lip is wobbly, threatening to curl downward, but he nods once. The forest. He needs to get to the forest before they catch up to them. To the forest and they’ll be free. 

“Go, Tommy, go.” Wilbur’s arm reels back and he chucks the ender pearl as far as the eye can see, landing on top of the roof of a building. His eyes are curved into crescents, tears glistening around the corners before he disappears in a blur, leaving Tommy behind. 

With the last pearl in his hand, Tommy stares at it with a shred of hope, the eye staring blankly back at him. He, too, then throws it in the direction of the forest’s mouth, feeling himself being whisked away by magic. Tommy hits the ground knees first, burning scratches into his skin as he forces his weak legs to stand up. There’s no time to look for Wilbur, for distant shouting reaches his ears just when he picks up his feet to run. 

“He’s over there… Get him…!”

Run, run, run, run, Tommy repeats to himself in a mantra, looking over his shoulder at times to briefly calculate the distance between him and the hunters. They bring torches that light up the clouded skies, flames burning high even in the screaming rain that hits the ground in the rhythm of Tommy’s footsteps. He tries his best to not think about what will come after, squeezing his eyes shut at the burn of his legs. All he needs to do is listen to Wilbur. He trusts Wilbur’s judgement, it hardly failed before. He doesn’t think about Wilbur’s failed decision of an election. He stops thinking, only focusing on running, running, running.

An arrow whizzes past his ear, grazing his cheek and lighting that aflame with pain. Tommy gasps, unsteady on his feet with shock that is not yet registered in his brain. His lungs give in and he wheezes for air, muscles burning, eyes hazy, head whirling.

“Tommy!” comes a shout from his side, halting the beat of his breathing. A flash of brown before an arm wraps under and over his arm in support. 

“I’ve got you,” Wilbur pants heavily next to him, breath warm in the freezing cold. “I’ve got you.” 

“We…” Tommy tries to make out as the yelling nears. He squeezes the thought of a terrified Tubbo out of his mind. “We’re… almost there.” 

“You can do it. We can do it. Come on.” Wilbur picks up the pace, and they break into a jog , elbows jutting out, streams of water trailing down their faces, clinging to their lashes. 

He’s almost to the mouth of the forest. Tommy’s eyes fall onto the moving trees, the gaping black hole welcoming him with dark hands. He’s almost there. They’re almost there. He zones in onto Wilbur’s heaving, matching his breaths with the man’s. In, one, out, two, in, one, out, two, in, one, out-

It takes Tommy entirely by surprise then. The shove that sends him crashing to the side, legs splayed out and arms in front of his gaze. Wilbur had pushed him to the side.

He doesn’t have the chance to scream when a shining silver arrow embeds itself into Wilbur’s chest, directly through the heart, ripping fabric to shreds and staining it with an unholy red. It stains the back of his uniform, mahogany eating through the fabric and spreading. Tommy doesn’t feel the rain, doesn’t hear anything but the pounding of his heart, doesn’t see the blinding lights in the distance. Wilbur coughs once, falling straight onto the ground without another gasp of breath. 

Eyes half lidded, glazing over with the veil of death, they stare back at Tommy. It takes him nearly a minute to snap into focus; a minute Wilbur had left for him, wasted.

“Wilbur!” Tommy hollers, throat raw. “Wilbur! Wilbur! You can’t-! Wilbur! Wil-! W-” The boy collapses onto his bleeding knees, fingers fumbling to unbutton the shirt collar to search for a pulse. His own heart stops when he feels absolutely nothing, not a spark of life within the man. The arrow had pierced his heart. There is no saving him now.

It clicks then, sinking speedily into Tommy’s mind. It shakes his shoulders and screams at him to accept the fact: Wilbur is _dead_.

Footsteps approach at an alarming rate, the clanking of armor and weapons drawing closer by the second. Tommy doesn’t know if it’s the rain or his tears that are leaking down his face given how hard the downpour beats down from above. His hands grip at Wilbur’s shoulders, refusing to let go of his leader, his president, his brother, his-, his-

Tommy’s hand comes up to slap himself square in the face. He bares his teeth at the agony, and it works. It snaps him out enough for him to think.

He can’t mourn, Tommy realizes. He can’t mourn right now. He can’t, not with Wilbur’s sacrifice being in vain if Tommy goesn’t get his shit together and run the fuck out of here. 

_Then flee_ , a voice that sounds like Wilbur in his mind literally begs him. _Flee, flee, flee._

And so Tommy flees. 

Into the trees, ignoring the hunters, into the darkness, ignoring the pain knifed into his chest. One two, his footsteps, one two, three hunters, one two, Tubbo Wilbur, one two, the wailing skies, one two, one two, one after another, thought after thought. The arrow through Wilbur’s chest, one two, deeper into the forest, one two, the light fading from Wilbur’s eyes, one two, the warmth of his body slipping from Tommy’s hands and into the cold, cold air, one two. 

One two, one two, one two, one-

Tommy’s foot catches under a jagged tree root, sending him sprawling down a mountain. The breath is knocked clean out of his lungs before he has the time to yelp as he tumbles through the sparse thorny bushes. His ears fill themselves with a piercing ringing, head hitting against the rocks on the way down, hands and legs scraping against the dirt. Thunder crashes in the sky when he hits the ground below, eyes squeezed shut.

Wilbur’s dead expression flashes through Tommy’s mind before a sharp, rippling pain sends him swirling into a cold oblivion.

_**FIRST MOVEMENT: NO. 2** _

.

.

.

“[Tommyinnit, we need to make a wall.](https://youtu.be/V4bTi4XpMoI?list=PLHejO4RqN8rvovTogryg5eX5bAt5Vb6l7&t=1955)”

Tommy finds himself running along the hills as Wilbur announces that from behind, eyes trained on the foggy forest in front of him. He doesn’t turn around to look at Wilbur, though, busying himself with searching along the blades of grass. His mouth moves numbly as if Tommy’s recited these words hundreds of times: “We need to start a revolution.” 

“For the revolution,” Wilbur replies without a beat, but his voice seems to become distorted at the end in a cacophony. 

Tommy blinks, and the walls are built. They tower higher than the caravan, and he’s standing in front of people he can’t seem to recognize.

“[No matter what happens during this war, no matter who wins or who loses, just remember that we’re on the right side of history](https://youtu.be/qevM-wF2HT4?list=PLHejO4RqN8rvovTogryg5eX5bAt5Vb6l7&t=2015),” someone speaks, their face blurred out just like the rest. Their voice -- Tommy tries to reach out, limbs feeling like they’re stuck in quicksand -- is just so familiar. Too familiar even, but from who?

He tilts his head, closes his eyes, ponders, and when he opens them, a man stands in front of him. His hands are on Tommy’s shoulders, and there’s an irrevocable swell of pride blooming in his chest. 

“[Tommy, I’m so fucking proud of you](https://youtu.be/65q0Tfgu_Ic?t=40),” the man beams, laughing lightly. “Like, all of your- all of your heroes you’ve overtaken, like-” he laughs again, and this time it comes out in a wheeze, “it’s mental. Very proud.”

A smile is wide on Tommy’s face, and his cheeks are starting to hurt from the high, high praise. 

“Thank you, Wilbur,” he says, feeling at the top of the world. “Thank you.”

_Wilbur._

_Wilbur. Wilbur. Wilbur._

_WilburWilburWilburWilburWilbur_

_wilburwilburwilburwilburwilburwilburwilbur-_

The grin slides of his face like ice, cold instilling itself within the boy as an uncanny sense of dread consumes him. Then, he’s running, but his body is falling forward while his legs drag behind him. There’s shouting, fire, rain, wind. Tommy’s panicking, mind in shambles (he doesn’t remember anything, only the desire to reach the woods at the end of his vision).

Someone crashes into his shoulders, forcing Tommy’s legs to slip out from under him. His world swims in his gaze, head hitting the ground and his eyes catching sight onto a familiar blue of the L’Manburg outfit. 

And those eyes -- a detail sharper than anything around Tommy, those eyes, ridden with fear and shock, looking directly at him- 

T  
H  
U  
M  
P

Blood, blood, everywhere, gathering in a puddle, crawling through the grass and consuming it in a sea of red. Tommy breaks out in cold sweat, breathing rapidly and choking on his breaths as he tries to scramble away from the blood and the limp body on the floor. 

But it just keeps coming, and coming, and coming, and- 

Tommy wakes up with his ribcage screaming in agony, head throbbing with a dull ache. He tastes grit in his mouth along with a flaring pain in his ankle that shoots up his leg when he shifts his body over to the side. It’s a fruitless attempt to slowly lift himself from the mud as his lungs strangle him into a coughing fit. Something stabs him near under the heart, and he sucks in a sharp breath, trying to ease the discomfort as it ebbs away. 

_Come on_ , he tells his body, eyes flickering up toward the cliff he had fallen off of. _Get up_. He pushes himself to his knees, heels of his palms digging into the squelching wetness below him. His hearing returns to him then, the gentle sweeping of a nearby river being the only sound of comfort in this empty, desolate area.

The skies have stopped raining, his surroundings dreary with low gray clouds that bask him in shadows. Gusts of wind shake the trees, forcing them to shake and tremble and groan underneath the encompassing darkness. 

He needs to find a cave, a place of shelter, anything he can get under before nightfall, Tommy thinks to himself, opening his mouth to intake a breath of cold air. He grinds his teeth whilst he pushes himself upward onto his feet, his ankle crying in utter pain and he nearly falls over because of his staggering. 

It’s most likely twisted, and there’s probably a bruise in his ribcage, and he may or may not have a concussion (there’s no blood, thankfully), but he shakes off the fatigue in his body. There’s no time to think or reconsider his choices. He has no weapons nor shield to protect himself from the mobs. 

But Tommy can’t help himself from thinking things through for a bit, just a second or two. What would Wilbur do in a situation like this? He’d probably say something like: Find shelter first, then food and water. We can each go out on patrol after tending to our wounds and hopefully find-

Tommy stops in his tracks. 

The escape. The arrows. The blood. The fire. The rain. _Wilbur_.

It all comes back to him in a wave, pressing him to the ground, making his heart drop and his lungs collapse. His heart stutters in his chest for a fleeting moment before Tommy slaps a hand over his mouth, bile rising within his throat. It’s an acid taste, sour within his mouth as he throws up onto the patch of grass next to him. There’s the feeling of being choked as he gags and coughs at the memory of fresh blood and the look of death in those eyes-

A sudden sense of dread fills him like a pitcher to a cup, overflowing with the abrupt memory. Tommy’s been exiled from L’Manburg, the only person who he depended on now gone. He can’t keep going. He won’t be able to survive. It will only be a matter of time before Schlatt finds him and takes him back to the country (and it’s not home to him anymore, it’s just a different country) and executes him. 

And Wilbur… dear gods, Wilbur… 

Tommy can’t just let Wilbur’s sacrifice be in vain- he just can’t. Not after he sacrificed himself in such a way, no, no. The tears build up behind Tommy’s eyes, but he blinks them away rapidly, hands balling into fists. He’s a man. He’s no longer- He was never a child to begin with.

He has to get to safety and tend to his wounds… for Wilbur. After he gets to shelter, then- then- he’ll get help. Tommy will definitely get help from someone, anyone. Even if Wilbur was no longer by his side, he’ll take back L’Manburg from Schlatt, whether it be single handedly or with the help of outside forces. He will. He definitely will. For Wilbur, for Tubbo, for Fundy, for Niki, for himself.

And so, Tommy moves forward.

He drags his left leg forward with his last shred of confidence, through the shroud of weeping willows and past the frigid river. There’s pain in every step, weighing him back as his eyes sweep around the perimeter, taking in any signs of cave mouths or crevices to hide in for the night. It doesn’t help that Tommy’s head is spinning and each foot forward feels as if the energy is being sucked directly from him.

There _has_ to be a cave somewhere around here, there has to be, Tommy thinks drowsily, exhaustion gripping him by the neck. If he just continues to follow the river, then maybe, by any chance, he just might…

Lady Luck gives her his blessing then as his ears perk up to the noise of rushing water emptying into a ravine. Tommy rushes toward it with stagnated breaths, chest heaving while he falls onto his knees, fingers digging into the slippery rock. He swallows thickly when there’s a gruttal, low groaning in the distance behind him, eyes flickering between his position and the black below. 

Without a second thought, he crawls down into the hollow cave, the faint dripping of water echoing throughout the area. The light dims and starts to filter through the cracks in between the rocks as Tommy makes his way down, careful not to place excessive force on his left ankle. His fingers scrape against the rough stone, fingernails raking across the jagged edges. By the time Tommy’s feet hit the puddle on the floor, his hands are raw, pink and parts of skin peeling off to expose a brighter red. 

He curses loudly, but bites his tongue when he remembers that the mobs could have heard him. Tommy runs his palms down his uniform, irritated at the feeling of numb yet warm throbbing hands. Dark brown draws itself in streaks down the soiled white of his pants.

It’s going to be fine, Tommy mumbles to himself, wrapping his arms around his chest. His teeth clatter. When it’s day again, he’ll go back up and find food. But right now he needs to find a crevice of any sort to stay in for the night. Walls, to protect him from any zombies or skeletons. Any crack will suffice. Literally any crack he can fit into. 

Tommy’s eyes scan the darkness, drifting from the threatening stalagmites to the black river trailing into the abyss. The cave lets out a long-suffering sigh when the haunting winds blow past him, running their cold fingers into the boy’s hair and seeping into his clothes. It whispers against his ear and breathes down his neck before disappearing, leaving Tommy in a gaping silence of nothing but trickling water and the pounding of blood in his ears. 

He really can’t stay in this cave for long. His hands are shaking, his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his anxiety is peaked by the dread of being attacked by the creatures of the night. Tommy will need to move, the sooner the better. 

Wedging himself between two slanted pieces of rock, he presses his shoulder against the makeshift shelter, tucking his knees into his chest in an attempt at keeping himself warm. It’s fruitless, however. Tommy bites his chapped lips to stop his eyes from curving into crescents and his brows from furrowing. He rubs a hand over his face, pressing into the eyes to keep the tears at bay.

The gears in Tommy’s mind start turning slowly to distract himself, recalling all the events that had blown past him in a haze of blood and fire. He starts thinking about L’Manburg, about Wilbur, about everyone else. He thinks of Schlatt and how Tommy had been so foolish to idolize him only to have the man shred that trust and pride apart at the seams. Deep down, Tommy understands that Schlatt hasn’t done anything wrong, having just thrown two power hungry men out of a democratically elected nation. Schlatt did it fairly, because, well, a coalition government was never illegal to begin with. But what Tommy and Wilbur had planned -- an unfair election, now safe to say -- most definitely was.

The fact that he is unable to do anything now to resolve all these things weighs heavily on his mind, fogging over his train of thoughts. And it irritated him. It really did. Because to Tommyinnit, nothing was ever unresolvable. He isn’t a meek child -- he’s strong enough to fix his own problems and predicaments himself, and has never failed to do so before. The war with Dream? He solved that! He helped his nation (or what once his nation) achieve independence through bargaining with his discs. _Tommyinnit_ was the one to claim their freedom. If he could do that, then surely he would be able to get himself out of this situation.

Clinging onto this newfound flame of hope ignited within him, Tommy reassures himself that he _will_ be able to escape from this dreadful place and seek refuge someplace safer, because Tommyinnit is no coward. He is a man. And he is a man because 

(there are no children in war, only men who grew up too fast.)

_**FIRST MOVEMENT: NO. 3** _

.

.

.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps for. All Tommy remembers is fading in and out of consciousness, nightmares of blood and fire plaguing his mind, and when he does finally snap awake, reality barrels into him with the force of a thousand trucks.

Tommy inhales sharply, the crisp cave air burning into his nostrils. He shifts in his position, wincing when blood rushes to his numb arm, needles stabbing into his skin. His throat is dry, chest aching and pain emerging within his swollen ankle. Arms reaching out, Tommy forces his weary body out of the crevice, making his way into the damp ground. His joints groan and ache, muscles sore and hair caked with mud clinging to his forehead. By the gods, he must look pathetic like this. Unable to fend for himself, injured and fatigued as fuck. 

Stumbling toward the dark river, Tommy’s head whirls, muddled and murky with fragments of thoughts here and there. He curses at the cave walls when cold, moist water bleeds into his damp shoes as they sink into a puddle that Tommy swore had not been there before. Low hissing in the deeper parts of the cavern meets his ears, but the norepinephrine has completely disappeared from his bloodstream. 

His knees hit the riverbank, more wetness seeping into the fabric once Tommy dips his cupped hands into the rushing stream. He takes a generous amount within his palms, raising them shakily to his mouth. It’s unadulterated bliss when the frigid liquid meets his lips. Tommy’s body reacts automatically, throat bobbing as he brings handful after handful of water to his mouth, drinking it in gulps. He tries his best to readily, but the rawness of his throat makes it nearly impossible not to choke and cough. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Tommy heaves himself back onto his feet, ankle wailing at the action. His eyes are adjusted to the dark, though each step he takes is a step closer to immediate death, the anxiety of stepping on some sort of low-lying mob filling his mind. 

Fingers dragging themselves across the cave walls in a reassurance of balance, Tommy makes his way to the broad light spilling in from the cave entrance he’d climbed in a day prior. He’s blinded by the rays that shoot down from the infinite blue skies cleared of clouds, eyes squinting at the blue and white and green above. He raises a hand to shield himself from the sunlight, hands curling into fists as if trying to catch it within his palm. 

The wall isn’t that tall.

The wall in front of him isn’t that tall, really. It really isn’t. Or at least that’s what Tommy keeps telling himself. Because it wasn’t, right? He could scale the damn thing in less than two minutes, he bets to himself. Surely it wasn’t that hard. 

And then that’s when he remembers. 

Oh. 

He had sprained (or possibly broken it, but he can’t tell which one it was) his ankle, and to Tommy’s dismay, it was swelling quite a lot. But, you know, this was fine. This was fine! He could still make it back up and escape from this place in a flash. 

With quaking hands, Tommy reaches upward toward the wall and climbs. It takes an absurd amount of strength to push himself up, and it’s all in vain when he pulls up his left leg and sticks it onto a small ledge. There’s the familiar swoop of his stomach before Tommy finds himself falling backward onto the ground, blunt pain piercing his shoulder blades and his lungs constricting. 

The sun burns a blemish on his face and he grimaces at the crystal hexagons that appear between his eyelashes. Tommy doesn’t get up for a while, his shoulders objecting even when he rolls to the side in an attempt to get up. 

Eyes bleary and sweat pricking beneath his hairline, he licks his lips, breathing hard. 

He tries again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again, until his ankle screams in pure, gruesome pain that flares around and under his skin like a bonfire. His shoulders are going to fucking fall off, he’s about seventy percent sure he’s going to suffer a concussion after how many times he’s fallen, and his arms are completely made of lead. 

He’s tired.

Tommy’s tired. 

Every last ounce of confidence and hope he has -- gone in the blink of an eye, like it never existed in the first place. Simply… gone. He can’t even bring himself to curse at the skies above nor the gods who dealt him this fate. As he lays helplessly on the dirty cave floor, the sun continues to laugh at him from above the earth.

Tommy drops his raised arm, the light of freedom escaping from his grasp.


	2. Op. 48: II. Andante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy becomes the kingpin

_**SECOND MOVEMENT: NO. 1** _

.

.

.

When he awakes, it’s night. The sun is gone and with it the light that burned his face. The moon is out now, gleaming down and throwing a lovely shade of silver upon the grass peeking from the cave’s edge.

It’s completely dark, is Tommy’s first thought. There’s skittering behind him somewhere, and he rolls his eyes toward his left side wearily. 

He’s met with bright red eyes. Multiple eyes. And a set of large, large jaws hovering several inches from his face. Tommy’s heart jolts and he feels his blood rush with adrenaline.

Up before he knows it, he jumps into a sprint, the throbbing in his ankle suppressed by his fight or flight mode. He doesn’t dare look over his shoulder at the humongous spider trailing after him. Its jaws snap loudly behind him. He doesn’t know where he’s running to. Deeper and deeper into the caves. 

His mind doesn’t think anything through. His arms pump back and forth; run, run, run. Tommy can still hear the spider. When the fuck were they this fast? Was he falling behind? 

Then he feels himself running into a dead end. A dead-end, out of all places! He’s got no sword, no weapon to defend him. Tommy swallows thickly as he whips around hastily, hands in front of him, shaking. His heart is in his throat. Blood roars in his ears and blocks out all other noises. There could be more mobs behind him for all he knew. 

The spider turns its head, clicking its jaws. There’s a horrid odor to it, and Tommy crinkles his nose, about to pass out from the spots peppering his vision and from the sudden rush of pain swarming around his ankle. 

His head swirls. Memories of the past flash through his eyes as he blinks rapidly at the advancing spider. Tommy backs up into the wall behind him, hoping that the creature won’t be able to find him. 

He holds his breaths. Counts the seconds before he’s killed.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Tommy doesn’t get to six seconds before there’s an ear-piercing shriek. He doesn’t even get to yell before his legs give up on him and he hits the ground on his arm. 

His eyes are half shut, but the pain doesn’t come. There is no pain, no nothing. Just a large gust of wind that hits his face, and a bright blue that skims through the air in an arc as the spider is beheaded right before Tommy’s eyes. 

There’s a brief flash of pink, and the rest is black.

And when he opens his eyes, there’s velvet red above him. The first thing he feels is plush bed sheets and a mattress under his sore back. Fire crackles at a distance, a soft orange light encompassing the red walls around him. 

Tommy blinks once, twice, three times. 

He raises an arm to his face, feeling his eyes, his nose, his mouth.

He’s still here. 

By the gods, he _isn’t_ dead. Holy fuck. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck, by the goddess of-

Wait. 

But if he isn’t dead… then where was he? It isn’t the cave, no way this was the cave, unless he was fucking hallucinating or some shit. Was he hallucinating? Tommy presses a hand against his forehead, feeling the texture of scratchy bandages wrapped around it. His sleeves are no longer blue, and instead are white, soft against his skin.

What the… had his injuries been taken care of? Who changed his clothes? What the fu-?

Sitting up, Tommy’s able to make out the room in front of him -- a fireplace to the front, as he’d expected from the sounds, magnificent purple curtains drawn over the windows, a desk and table, a wardrobe, and the front of a huge bed. His legs shift under the velvet silk blankets, and he furrows his brows at the sensation of something heavy and hard encasing his leg. Tommy draws his leg to his chest, throwing off the covers to see some sort of brace around his foot, wrapped in the same bandages. 

He’s able to wiggle his toes, but there's a dull ache residing within the lower part of his leg. Tommy tilts his head, running his nails over the white strips, mind trying to wrap around who had taken him under their care. 

Then there comes muffled sounds -- talking, Tommy takes it -- outside the door. Within a heartbeat, he pulls the covers to his chest, turning his back towards the entrance of the room as he pretends to be asleep. 

The knob turns with a click, footsteps tapping softly against the carpeted floor. The voices raise to a maximum hushed tone, ending with a, “Let me take it from here, Phil. You’re dismissed.” 

A pause. 

The door shuts.

“I know you’re awake, Tommy.” A familiar voice, one Tommy hasn’t heard in ages. His shoulders stiffen and he debates whether or not to look at the person in the room. “Are you feeling better?” A kind, soft yet deep tone.

The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor meets Tommy’s ears, and he reluctantly turns his head to the side. There wasn’t any point in hiding it anymore. 

Clad in light armor, a man with braided pink hair has his legs crossed on the seat next to Tommy’s bed. He dons a boar’s skull, eye sockets dark as shadows flicker against the dips and edges of the bone, reflecting off the jewels and gold of the crown sitting placidly on his head. Intimidating, it would be for someone who’d just laid eyes upon the man, but to Tommy, he merely meets the man’s eyes with frigid indifference. 

“Technoblade.” Or more known as The King of the Antarctic Empire, the harbinger of death and all things morbid, the Blood God, The Blade, he who once was Tommy’s brother (but Tommy would rather slit his own throat than consider Techno a brother anymore), and aliases of many more. The name rolls off Tommy’s tongue in a foreign way, laced with bitterness and a dose of hatred. The man, Technoblade, grins widely, propping his head up with a fist. 

“So you haven’t hit your head hard enough to forget my name yet, Tommy. Excellent. Good to see that you’ve somewhat recovered after your sleep.” 

Anger flames in Tommy’s chest, hands gripping at the covers hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“What? Here?” Techno questions innocently, a lazy smile still hanging off his lips. “Why’s that the first thing you ask when you’re the one in my home? Not exactly the most polite thing to say, if you were to ask me.” 

Tommy bares his teeth, a cold sensation traveling throughout his body. “You disappeared on us for years, and now you somehow reappear the fuck out of nowhere again? The hell are you playing at?” 

“Oh, Tommy, Tommy.” He lets out a low laugh that makes the shadows on the walls quaver and the fire to shrink. “I’m not playing at anything. I simply saved you from dying, is all. When you were in that cave, miserable and being hunted down by that spider.” 

“I don’t believe you were the one to save me. There was no fucking way you could have found me in that damn cave. _No one_ knew where I was.” 

The smile finally slips from Techno’s face, and delight washes through Tommy at the sight of it. Surely, Techno was going to commit something behind the scenes -- popping up right when Tommy flees from L’Manburg with several hunters trailing after him. He knew, Tommy knew, that if Techno wanted to intervene, he could have even sooner. He could have even stopped Wilbur from- from dying…

Techno uncrosses his legs, leaning forward to meet Tommy in the eye, hands clasped together between his legs. 

“Before I came,” he begins slowly, as if talking to a newborn five years of age, “I received a letter. And you know who that letter came from? Wilbur, Tommy. Wilbur sent me that letter. Phil must have leaked my location or something, but I received this letter, stamped with a red seal, asking for help. Tommy, Wilbur knew that Schlatt was going to win. He knew, and he prepared in advance for it. He called me to help the both of you.” 

Tommy falters for a split second, eyes going wide and lips apart. Wilbur? He’d planned all this? Even Techno’s intervention? If he knew about all this, then- then how- why- why did he die?

“Wil-” Tommy starts speaking but is overpowered by Techno’s ongoing explanation.

“But when I came it was only you. I stumbled upon the cave and found you inside looking half-dead with a spider at your heels. And, you know, you and Wil are like family to me. You guys are my brothers. When you call for help, I can’t ditch you both to deal with that predicament yourselves, you know?”

“You ditched us once,” Tommy seethes. “All you’re spouting now sounds like bullshit to me.” 

Techno opens his mouth in a retort, but closes it quickly, nodding his head slightly. “Fair enough, fair enough. If you do think that way, then you’re free to leave whenever your injuries are healed. For now, rest up.”

There’s no argument, no bickering like he and Tommy had before when they were younger. Just a dip of Techno’s head as he submissively stands up, cape undulating behind him. His hand places itself on the doorknob, about to turn it before Techno pauses.

“I’m sorry about Wilbur.” The hushed tone again. There’s genuine hurt, Tommy can tell, and it hits his own heart with a pang. Techno doesn’t look over his shoulder, merely pursing his lips and leaving the room. The door shuts with a click. Tommy’s left alone with the quiet snapping of fire and the faint howling of wind outside. 

He collapses onto the pillows again, rolling over on his side, tears threatening to tear his eyes apart with how much they burned. 

“Feel free to leave when your injuries heal” was what Techno said. Easier said than done, really, and even if Tommy did want to return to L’Manburg and set things right again, everything would go wrong again. Wilbur’s gone, Tubbo’s switched sides, and Tommy- Well, Tommy has no one to back him up. It was him against the whole world, and even the gods defied him. 

He squeezes his eyes shut to stop the incoming onslaught of tears, clenching his jaw and begging for sleep to claim him before his thoughts eat him up whole.

_**SECOND MOVEMENT: NO. 2** _

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Tommy awakes to the curtains drawn apart, sun leaking through the panes of glass and melting the frost and snow gathered upon the sill outside. If he squints hard enough, he can see the walls of the empire, high and idle around the nation. His stomach lets out an unhappy noise when the parallels give him a slap to the face. Tommy swallows thickly, glancing with tired eyes around the room.

Same place, same fire, same walls. 

He is still in Techno’s territory, and definitely is not hallucinating. His stomach makes another one of its dissatisfied noises, abruptly dragging him out of his wandering thoughts. No faster than he had swung his stiff legs over the edge of the bed, Tommy notices a silver platter filled with eggs and potatoes and fruits as well as a pair of crutches lying idle against the wall. His stomach wails again, and the boy begins to shovel food into his mouth, hunger gripping him by force. 

Someone knocks on his door just as he’s finishing up, and he forces himself to swallow the last bits of egg when he says, “Come in!”. A maid appears at the doorstep, head dipped low (it makes embarrassment flare within Tommy because he was not used to such formality) as she says in a humble tone, “His Imperial Majesty has left the castle to attend to personal matters. In the meantime, he bids you a good morning and will allow you to explore the building. Please do not hesitate to call on one of us if you need anything.” 

“O-Oh.” Tommy’s voice cracks at first, but he clears his throat hastily. “Thank you.” 

The maid retreats behind the varnished door, and Tommy’s alone once more. 

Explore the place… huh? It would be a perfect distraction for him, but his mind tugs at him to sit in bed all day and run all the bad memories through again like a broken record. Grimacing at himself, Tommy forces himself to get out of bed and takes the crutches laying slanted next to his bed, placing them underneath his arms and testing out his legs.

They’re weak, evidently, jelly-like and sore just like his back. When he takes a good look at himself in the body-length mirror placed above the cosmetics table, he laughs loudly, and it’s not the bubbly type someone gets when they react to something hilarious. No, no -- it’s darker, more high pitched than usual, voice strained to the point where Tommy almost doesn't recognize the sound coming from his lungs. It embraces all things pitiful and hysterical, absorbing it and mixing it into something maniacal. Something’s slipped away from him, definitely, Tommy laughs, teeth showing as his lips curl into a sinister smile and his eyes are bulged wide. 

And he can’t stop laughing at the mirror and the reflection of himself because, by the gods, he looked downright _pitiful_. Cleansed is his skin and hair from the grime that covered it days before, but his bloodshot eyes and bruises marring his skin -- some covered by white square bandages while others stood out like a sore thumb, purple and yellow and deep -- made Tommy feel as if he’s looking through another person’s eyes. 

Gone is his L’Manburg uniform, title stripped away with it. He is now just a person, a guest, living in an emperor’s kingdom because the monarch had felt pity for the child who had nearly been killed escaping on his own. 

The hysterics soon die out with Tommy staring blankly at the clean glass, and he never wanted to punch the damn piece of furniture into shards as much as he does now. His hand curls and uncurls into fists, the urge to shatter his reflection intensifying tenfold.

It is tempting, it really is, that feeling, but Tommy decides against it, tearing his eyes away from the image of himself. He doesn’t want to cause himself more pain, not when he suffered through so much in such a short amount of time already. If he were to smash the mirror, the broken glass would only end up in his fist and his heart, embedding themselves deep and never coming back out. 

Biting hard on his bottom lip, Tommy takes his crutches, leaves the room, and enters the great hall.

It’s deadly quiet in the midst of large, regal flags and fancy carpets. An empty silence that could eat Tommy alive. The maid who he’d seen before has disappeared, and there are no wandering figures along the stairs nor the balconies. To make things worse, he wasn’t even given a map! He’s definitely going to get lost in this castle, Tommy thinks in exasperation. 

Well, there’s no use standing around here for nothing either. Tommy draws his tongue over his lips and turns to the right -- a reasonable way to go, he muses to himself. Down the right hall are magnificent frosted windows, red draped around the edges of the glass, allowing a view of the pure white garden down below. Tommy marvels at the sight, pressing his nose up against the glass and fogging up the window with his humid breaths. It reminds him so much of L’Manburg, and at the thought of it, his stomach drops again. 

It reminds him of the snowball fights he and Wilbur and Niki and Fundy and Tubbo would have as they were building the walls and even after they won their independence. A bitter feeling, it is. It nearly makes him tear up again. He’s forced to look away from the gardens, instead focusing his attention on the doors receding down the rest of the hallway. 

Tommy fumbles with the first door, curiosity getting the best of him. It’s not locked, surprisingly, but inside is nothing but a common room, fire crackling merrily. He shuts the door and hobbles over to the next one. 

More or less each room holds nothing of importance; they were either excess guest rooms or studies that looked more than abandoned for a long time. Tommy blows a raspberry at how inconvenient it was for him to have to look through every room and find absolutely nothing of worth in every one of them.

He reaches the end of the doorway with disappointment evident in his mind and with only one room left to explore.

The very last door he hasn’t opened is located at the end of the hall where its doors are largest compared to the other ones Tommy has seen. He grimaces at himself. This better not lead to another goddamn common room or he’d flip his shit. Pushing the doors open and staggering in, Tommy’s breath is abruptly taken away by the sight of it. 

Books are pressed neatly into the shelves wrapped against all three walls, not a spine out of place. From the tall window in front of him, a blanket of pale sunlight floods the library, leaking through the cracks of the spiral staircase in the middle and encompassing the room with a warm yellow. There’s the magnificent view of the white covered garden from before, and the foliage sticking from around the windowsill hangs heavy with snow on its leaves. A piano sits quietly next to the railing of the first floor. The place is awe-inducing, ethereal even. Tommy’s mouth is open, inhaling the scent of paper and dust and ink. He only closes it once he takes it all in, then starts to navigate through the shelves of books.

The titles are all mainly engraved in gold, some flaking at the corners of the words. Most of the titles Tommy can’t recognize. They’re either in a different language or he’s never heard of it. He furrows his brows, crutches clacking against the varnished wood. 

He wasn’t a huge fan of reading, frankly. All the stories he’d heard back in L’Manburg were from Fundy, who wove tales of a land to the north, somewhere beyond the vast jungles and foggy forests, whose fields were evergreen and the vegetation thrived all year round. The books they had collected in the study were all informational -- maps and directions on how to read the sun or the constellations -- nothing that intrigued Tommy. It’s the same here in Techno’s library. Nothing here seems to catch his attention, until he reaches a story in particular, that is. 

The book’s spine is red, a blue ribbon sticking from between the pages. Tommy huffs out a breath, dust immediately scattering from the top of the volumes. He pulls it out with a finger, watching as the adjacent books fall against one another to fill the gap. It’s leathery in his hands, brown dust collecting on his palm and fingers while he feels the cover’s texture.

A crazy coincidence, it was, to find the book he hasn’t seen since he and Wilbur parted from Techno and Philza. Tommy runs his thumbs over the golden words implemented on the front, eyes scanning the title: _The Art of War_ , by Sun Tzu. 

To someone else, the book would look exceptionally new -- none of the pages bent and actually kept in a pristine condition. But to Tommy, _The Art of War_ , this volume especially, is eons old. He and Wilbur had bought it from a traveling nomad for Techno when they were younger, having seen him eye it every time they passed by the stand. So, Tommy and Wilbur had gone around town selling small personal items until they gathered enough money to purchase it, and gifted it to Techno for his birthday. 

And he’s sure that it’s the exact same book since there’s an ugly “Happy Birthday Techno :D!” scrawled onto the back of the cover, signed by Wilbur and Tommy underneath. A chuckle slips from Tommy’s lips because, after all these years, he had thought Techno would have thrown it away after their fight. But here it was -- forgotten, yes, but not thrown away just yet. 

Holding it with a death grip in his hand, Tommy descends down the small flight of stairs, past the piano and desk, to the window’s edge. He makes himself comfortable there, snuggling against the cool glass and stretching his leg in front of him before turning to the first page. 

Something slips out when he tilts the book, reflecting off the sunlight in a flash of white. Tommy nearly drops the book trying to catch it out of instinct, hands flying to his side. 

“What the…” he breathes out once he’s got a hold of it. His heart stops for a moment when he raises it to the light. 

It’s a picture of them all: Phil, him, Wilbur, Techno, from when they were young. Tommy’s beaming at the camera, Wilbur has an arm around Techno who has his arms folded, and Philza stands at the side looking fondly at the three. 

The sight of it makes Tommy’s heart wrench violently, stomach flipping and a sense of nostalgia flooding his senses. He can’t take his eyes away from the photo. It hypnotizes him, pushing memories of the past to the surface and causing a long-suffering ache to instill itself in his heart. His grip on the photo causes the corner to crinkle under the pressure as his eyes curve into crescents, unable to hold back the tears at bay. 

_It’ll be okay_ , he hears in his mind in a voice that resembles Wilbur’s. It soothes and saddens him all at once, and he hangs his head, bringing the picture to his chest. 

Then, Tommy lets the tears flow free.

_**SECOND MOVEMENT: NO. 3** _

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A month passes by slowly and drawn out, and no progress is made. Tommy’s ankle is nearly healed, his bruises fading back into his skin, and the life returning in his eyes. He and Techno haven’t talked much either. Only a few ‘how are yous’ and ‘is your leg better yet’, then nothing more. Tommy can’t say he doesn’t like Techno’s company, per se, because when you have nothing to do other than stare out at the village covered in snow and read nearly half the books in the library, you start craving social interaction.

If it wasn’t Techno he talked to, it was Phil, who was equally as busy as Techno (doing what, Tommy wouldn’t know). Phil didn’t talk much, maybe because he was instructed not to or he was actually genuinely occupied by empire work, but when he did, it left a fleeting sense of warmth within Tommy. A sense that Phil still cared about his well being, if he dared say. 

So when Techno opens his door on the afternoon of a preceding full moon, Tommy is absolutely startled, shoulders stiffening at the emperor’s arrival. 

“Geez,” he snaps, “at least knock on the fucking door. You have no fucking manners, do you.” 

Techno looks incredulously at the door, then back at Tommy, then back at the door, and shrugs it off. “I’ll make note of that next time.” 

“Next time? Do you just randomly fucking burst into someone’s room every time you need something?” 

“Well, no-”

“Goddamnit, Techno, you infuriate me.” 

The monarch heaves a sigh, a hand coming up to rub his face under the mask. He looks really done with life. Tommy suppresses the urge to laugh. 

“Anyway,” Techno continues, ignoring the last statement, “I left an outfit in the closet for you the other day. Put it on and meet me at the front doors.” 

“The fuck? We going somewhere?” Tommy hops off the bed, making his way to the closet. Surely enough, there’s the set of clothes dyed in a regal red; fluffy and buff enough to keep out the cold and lock in the warmth while being fashionable at the same time. He has to say, it doesn’t look that bad. 

“Sure.” 

The boy scoffs at the short reply and bundles all the clothing into his arms before throwing them onto the bed to get dressed. 

“Well then, I’ll see you in a few.” And with that, Techno’s gone, footsteps disappearing into the silence. 

Tommy finishes dressing in a matter of minutes, clasping the front of his winter cape before tugging it around his chest and hurrying past the railing and down the cobblestone stairs. The sunlight reaches him before he gets to the main doors, slipping into his wool shoes and past his cheeks. 

He stops in his steps, breathing in the scent of melting snow and crisp air and listening to the birds in the far distance and the low chattering of the village beyond the castle walls. A brown horse awaits at the side of the front doors with Techno at its side, a bright pink splotch against the glittering white. The horse stomps its hooves against the ground and Techno pats its flank, murmuring to the creature. 

“Meet Carl,” Techno introduces without looking up from the satchel he’s digging through. “My best-bred horse. A best friend of mine, too.” 

“Uh- Hello, Carl,” Tommy replies awkwardly. With a brief nod from Techno, he goes over and brushes his hand across the horse’s mane, its hot breath reaching the tips of his ears as Carl lets out a snort.

“We’ll be traveling to the blacksmith today, and you’ll be riding behind me. Normally I’d have Phil take you, but he’s not available at the moment, so we’ll have to improvise.” The emperor slings the satchel across Carl’s back and clips it to the saddle. “Here, let me help you up.” 

Techno hoists Tommy onto the horse’s back in a swift movement, making sure the boy is settled on before throwing a leg across and taking a seat himself. 

“Wrap your hands around my waist until you want to fall off, alright?” He turns to look over his shoulder, and Tommy stares back into Techno’s dark eye sockets before giving a feeble nod. 

The gates open when Carl trots down the pathway past the castle wall and into the bustling town. As they pass, the citizens pave a road for the horse, moving to the sides but looking unaffected at the presence of their emperor. Tommy glances around, mouth slightly parted so he can see his breaths mist over in a cloud of white as he exhales. 

Between a bakery and a small house is the blacksmith’s place, Tommy comes to know when Techno pulls on the reins, eliciting another snort and a shake of the head from Carl. Techno slips off the saddle easily, tying the leash to a nearby wooden post before offering a hand to Tommy. His feet crunch against the snow when he lands, and he pulls his cape tighter around himself at the cold gust of air. 

“Hallo,” Techno takes a step into the building and Tommy follows suit, a warm blast of heat slamming into his face. 

A raging furnace sits at the side of the place, flames licking at a set of tongs peeking into the entrance. It smells of metal and ash, causing Tommy’s nose to wrinkle. Techno doesn’t seem fazed at the smell, instead pushing his cape behind him as an old man walks up to him. 

“Is it ready, Pete?” 

“You bet it is,” Pete grins, beckoning them to a soot-covered table on which a gleaming sword lay idle. “I’ll need the other half of your payment before I can hand it over, though.”

The emperor tosses a sack of gold onto the table, the coins within clinking together. Pete dips his head and hands Techno the sword with two gloved hands. 

“Made of pure diamond. What do you think, Tommy?” Techno places the blade on his palm, turning it so it caught the streaks of light pouring from the furnace. He studies it for a moment before playing with it in his hands, tossing the handle from one palm to another. 

Tommy stutters a bit. “I-I think it’s quite nice.” 

“Well, it’s yours now.” 

His jaw nearly drops. “Tech-Techno what?”

Techno raises a brow, handing the crystal sword to him. “Was I not clear the first time I said it?” 

“But- I- You- You-” Tommy’s tongue twists into a knot, the heaviness of the weapon weighing his hands down once Techno closes the boy’s hands around the handle. “Why?” 

“Why? I already have enough weapons,” Techno gives a shrug. “I don’t need more.” 

The sword is a magnificent thing, Tommy gapes; he can see his reflection within it, tinted a light blue. It’s light enough for him to hold but sharp enough to probably slit a man’s throat before even touching the skin. Simply holding the weapon made him feel a sense of security. This much power in his hands…

“Here.” 

A brown sheath is thrown at him, and Tommy barely catches it in time with his left hand. 

“Keep it next to your side in case you need it,” Techno orders. “We’re going to take a couple more trips around town, so don’t lose it.” 

Tommy swallows thickly, doing as he is told. The sword fits perfectly into its case, and now there’s this unfamiliar weight at his side. It makes him feel unbalanced if he were to be honest. Back in L’Manburg they had banned all weapons because Wilbur didn’t believe in violence, but (Tommy exhales into the air, fingers wrapping around the sword’s handle in assurance of his decision) self-defense wasn’t necessarily violence, right…?

He doesn’t linger on the thought any longer as he and Techno travel around town, passing through the different stalls and vendors as cattle and people move past them in streams. 

“Tommy,” Techno starts when they’re on horseback, “if you want anything, let me know.” 

And Tommy nearly fucking _keels_ over in laughter, because -- holy shit -- that was so suspicious. He has a hard time keeping the chuckles in and accidentally lets out a snort. 

“You have something to say?” 

“No, no, big man,” the phrase slips so easily from Tommy’s mouth and suddenly they’re back to the old days again when he would tease Techno with the nickname, “I’m just wondering why in the everloving hell you would say that. ‘Cus usually you would be all like, ‘Oh, I’m Technoblade and I hate everyone; all I want is blood and war and social anxiety hurts my head and I hate Wilb-Wilbur and Tommyinnit because they are total idiots!’ But now you’re all, ‘Hey if you want anything I’ll buy it for you’. Y’know, just so y’know-” Tommy wheezes out loud. “It’s not really in character, you get it?” 

Techno’s silent for a moment too long, and Tommy thinks, well, now he’s done it -- he’s screwed things over and, man, he’s probably going to get kicked out of the kingdom for all that offensive-

“Do you know what day it is, Tommy?” Techno asks in his ever so clear, monotone voice. The horse doesn’t stop moving.

“Well, I- Uh-” He breaks out in cold sweat. No, no, he doesn’t. Is it supposed to be an important day? Tommy wracks his brain for an answer, but nothing surfaces. 

“It’s your birthday.” 

Tommy blinks at Techno’s back, mind swirling into a whirlwind of thoughts. He manages to sputter out a, “Sorry, what?” 

“It’s your birthday, nerd. Take a wild guess why you’re out here now.” 

The chaos of all these events and Tommy had managed to forget his own birthday? His own birthday. Today. Wilbur said he’d have a surprise for his next birthday and that’s today-

He stops. A stone drops to the darkened lake in his stomach, the sound echoing into his ears. Oh, that’s right. Wilbur’s gone. And the only person who he’d celebrate his birthday with would be Techno, a man who’s colder than the Northern Sea itself, driven by bloodlust and a need for violence. Not the most ideal birthday, one would think. 

“Oh.” Is all Tommy can manage before those pair of dead eyes reflect back at him in his mind, before the crimson red stains his vision, before-

“Dang it, kid, don’t fall off the horse now.” A harsh grip sends him seated back on the saddle, saved from slipping off the edge. Tommy blinks rapidly, unaware of the tears that are growing cold, dripping down his chin. He tries to wipe them away quickly, burying his face in the fur of the cape and quickly smearing them away with the heel of his hand. 

Techno, thank the gods, doesn’t comment on the sniffling behind him. They continue back to the castle, not a word exchanged during the rest of the journey.

_**SECOND MOVEMENT: NO. 4** _

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The moon is out when Tommy comes down the stairs to the dining hall, his shoes clicking on the polished marble floors. Candlelight flickers along the walls, sweeping to one side in tandem with the flow of Tommy’s cape. He sets his sights on the long dinner table at the end of the corridor where ribbons of pearl white fall into the room, only to be chased away by the orange glow of the fireplace.

There, Techno and Philza sit across from one another in silence. Tommy winces at the screeching sound the chair makes when he pulls it out, and the silence is no longer impenetrable. Phil clears his throat and shifts in his seat just as a servant comes in with three dining plates, setting them before them. 

“So, Tommy,” Techno greets while the servant bows and leaves, “what do you think of your sword?” 

Tommy looks at Techno, realizing that he hasn’t removed his sword from his side ever since their trip to the village. The weight is one of comfort now in a matter of hours, and it presses gently against his side in a reminder of the weapon he is free to wield at will. 

“I like it,” he states simply, though his emotions reach further than that of ‘like’. At the end of the table, Phil glances upward, eyes falling on the brown sheath at Tommy’s side. “It’s pretty badass.” 

Techno lets out a huff of laughter. Tommy cracks a slight smile, still jittery in the presence of two powerful people. Phil doesn’t say anything. He returns to picking at his meal. 

That’s all that’s said within the first ten minutes of their supper. Tommy tries to eat the chicken as slow as he can, but the ravaging hunger in his stomach begged to differ. He ends up finishing the entire plate, but just as he’s about to stand up to dismiss himself, the emperor open’s his mouth again. 

“Sorry to bring this up, on such a day, Tommy, but I’d like to talk about L’Manburg.” 

Tommy goes rigid, hands clenching the sides of his seat. His mind reels backward automatically, thoughts going blank at the mention of the nation. He hasn’t thought about the death of Wilbur or his escape from Schlatt’s reign as a fugitive for a while now, having been immersed in books and being stuck in bed because of his ankle. It takes him absolutely off guard.

“Wh-What about Manb-Manburg?” he stutters out. 

Techno clasps his hands in front of him, resting his chin on his fingers. “What are you going to do now that Schlatt’s taken over and that you’ve healed enough. Are you going to go back? Stay here? Philza and I wouldn’t mind having you back.”

The boy opens his mouth. He closes it. Then opens it again. “Well, I- I- I don’t know.” 

“Are you going to reclaim your place as the rightful president? Are you going to, let’s say, hypothetically, forcibly remove Schlatt from the throne?” 

The suggestions are wild, of course. Forcibly remove Schlatt from power just so Tommy could take back L’Manburg? It wasn’t short of a good idea, but that would require using weaponry and that wasn’t what his nation stood for. Just using force to take back power would instantly go against everything he built. It wasn’t worth it, in the end. 

“I don’t-” Tommy dares say to the skull mask, “I don’t think removing Schlatt would do anything. It’s an option, but fucking killing someone?”

“I never said anything about _killing_ , per se.” 

“With the way your morals are set, you damn well did.” 

Techno barks out a laugh, letting a slight cough out at the end. “Fair enough, Tommy, fair enough. But, listen. Wouldn’t you want to get revenge -- not revenge, maybe, that's too strong of a word -- wouldn’t you want to avenge Wilbur’s death? Isn’t what Schlatt has done immoral? He could have merely captured Wilbur, but he instead sends an arrow through his heart.”

Tommy falters, eyes going wide and his mouth dry. It definitely was immoral, he’d have to agree with Techno, but killing in retaliation for Wilbur's death? They never condoned such a thought in L’Manburg; everything was solved with friendly conversations and peace treaties. 

“An eye for an eye isn’t the right thing to do, Techno. Maybe I could talk it out with Schlatt, even if he has-” A pause. “Even if he has mur-murdered Wilbur in cold blood.” 

“[Tommy](https://youtu.be/mbYL474rAdg?t=141),” Techno presses two fingers against his temple, “[the thing is, you’re using words. But the thing about this world, Tommy, is that the only universal language is violence.](https://youtu.be/mbYL474rAdg?t=141) You have to coerce your enemy into submission.” 

“Violence isn’t always the fucking option! Wilbur would have never let this shit happen!” Tommy slams both his fists onto the table, clattering the silverware. 

The emperor simply clicks his tongue as a response. After a while, he lets out an audible sigh. 

“Well, Tommy, what would Wilbur say? Would he rather have you take back the nation you two built and lived in together or would he have you hide away like a coward?” 

“I’m _far_ from a coward, bitch!” Tommy rages, pushing his seat back and standing up. “I fought for L’Manburg once, and I’ll do it again, but under no circumstances am I fucking killing someone.” 

He removes the sword from his hip, slamming it down against the table. He walks away to his room without another word, leaving an ear-deafening silence in his wake. 

Who the fuck did Techno think he was, making decisions for Tommy on Wilbur’s behalf? If Wilbur was here, he’d know what to do. He’d know what they should do to take L’Manburg back from Schlatt’s grasp. If Wilbur was here-

Tommy throws himself onto the mattress, letting out a frustrated yell into the blankets. Wilbur wouldn’t have wanted this. He wouldn’t want Tommy to rage war against the new president of the nation, and Tommy knows it. He’s been with Wilbur for such a long time, has believed in his morals, has followed him and in his footsteps. He knows what Wilbur wants him to do.

_Or do you?_ A sinister part of Tommy mutters, voice saturated with saccharin. _Are you sure you know that violence isn’t the answer? Wilbur could have been lying to you in the first place. If you had used weapons during the fight for independence, the war would have been won in the blink of an eye._

Tommy snaps wide awake, blinking furiously as he turns to stare at his reflection in the mirror. It’s no longer him, but a black twisted thing encased in shadows, slipping behind his back and placing its hands on his shoulders. 

_Shouldn’t have put down that sword, the shadow says ruefully. You could have avenged Wilbur with it. You still can. Just ask for it back, and Schlatt will be dead and you can get L’Manburg back. You can reclaim control of the country Wilbur built and left for you. Do it for him. Just like Techno said: Violence is the only universal language. Come on, Tommy, don’t deny it now. You want to remove Schlatt from presidency, don't you? Come on. Now, don’t deny it._

Tommy seethes with anger, opening his mouth to retort when the shadow gives a sadistic white smile before disappearing in front of his eyes. There’s knocking at his door, a sharp rapping of the knuckles. It seems urgent, but he doesn’t feel like letting anyone into his room at the moment. He purses his lips into a thin line, returning to his bed and sitting at the edge, staring out the window.

The door opens against Tommy’s will, and he immediately slouches. Of course, again, it’s Techno. The emperor shuts the door behind him with a click, shutting them both within the room. Tommy doesn’t look Techno in the eye, steadfast anger running through his veins. 

“Tommy-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Tommy shuts Techno down before he can say anything. “The conversation is over, I’m fucking done with it. You can keep the damn sword; I’m not taking it back.”

“Listen, Tommy, I-”

“No.”

Techno lowers his head, his mask catching the orange of the flames. They sit in silence for a prolonged while, the gap between them larger than the seven seas. Tommy keeps his mouth shut, waiting for Techno to leave his room and leave him the fuck alone, but the man doesn’t. 

“Tommy,” Techno tries again, shifting on his legs. Tommy doesn't waste his energy replying this time. He’ll hear what Techno has to say, and either reject or shut him up if he crosses the line again. “I want to apologize.”

Now _that_ catches Tommy’s attention by the neck. Techno? Apologizing? Never on the three moons would Tommy have ever thought to hear those words from the emperor’s mouth. He turns his head slowly toward Techno, an incredulous expression crossing his face. 

“What?” 

“I may have pressed against your boundaries a bit too far, and for that, I sincerely apologize.” 

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Technoblade.” 

Techno doesn’t laugh, but instead walks over to face Tommy, long pink hair undulating behind him as he stares the boy down. 

“Tommy, I have to ask you something.” 

“If it’s about killing Schlatt-”

“[Sun Tzu says, ‘Know your enemy and know yourself, and you need not fear the results of a hundred battles’.](https://youtu.be/laNQIp_S2AI?t=58) So I want to ask: Tommy, do you know yourself?”

Does he know himself? Tommy remains silent, eyes glued to the carpeted floors, fingernails pressing hard into his knees. He knows he- he knows- he knows that-

…

What _does_ he know? 

He knows that Wilbur’s dead. He knows that the arrow went clean through his heart, and might have as well gone through Tommy’s, too, with how much it hurts inside. He knows Tubbo’s gone, Fundy’s turned against them, and that Tommy’s alone. He knows that underneath all the morals he’s adopted, there’s a flaming fire that screams in the darkest parts of him, pushing and begging to be let out. He knows that there’s a part of him -- if he were to be brutally honest with himself -- there’s a part of him that craves the return of L’Manburg and not Manburg, with Tommy as president. 

But yet...

“I don’t- I don’t know myself,” Tommy chokes out squeezing his eyes shut and threading his fingers through his hair, pulling at it. “I don’t know myself. I don’t know what I want.” 

“Then think,” Techno replies, voice soft, nearly lost in the crackling of fire, “what would Wilbur want you to do?”

Tommy swallows thickly, a lump forming in his throat and preventing him from speaking. Wilbur, Wilbur. What would Wilbur want him to do? He probably would want him to fight for their country; that’s what they did last time, at least, fighting together against Dream and his allies. That is what Wilbur would want him to do… right?

Within the confusion, Tommy’s met with the dull blue eyes hidden behind the boar’s mask, staring back at him. 

“Wilbur would have wanted you to fight back for your country, wouldn’t he?” Techno says, voice as smooth as the velvet sheets. “He built that nation for you and his son and Tubbo and Nikki and everyone else. He named you second-in-command for a reason, Tommy.”

Techno pauses, sinking down onto one knee so that he now has to look up at Tommy. There’s a pause as if he’s waiting for the younger one to process his words and find the reason. A pause, and then he continues. 

“He knows that you’re up to the challenge, Tommy. He left you in charge of L’Manburg because he trusted you to be his successor. He gave you the responsibility to lead the country with him. Wilbur, Tommy, Wilbur would have wanted you to reclaim the land that was wrongfully taken from him. The nation he worked so hard to build to act as a safe place from Dream’s empire. He would have wanted you to fight back.”

He couldn’t disagree with Techno. Tommy really couldn’t. He’s second-in-command. He’s second-in-command and Wilbur left him that responsibility. He has to finish what Wilbur started. He has to- he has to take back L’Manburg from Schlatt. It is his duty and he _will_ live up to it.

“So, Tommy,” Techno’s voice is even quieter, voice dripping with comfort and support, lulling Tommy into an easy submission. His words taste like honey, and Tommy drinks it all up when Techno asks: “Do you trust me?” 

Tommy’s tongue loosens, and the fire in his chest flares rampant. “Yes.”

In his hands, the emperor brings out the familiar brown sheath, the sword lying idle in his hands, yearning to be held and be wielded by Tommy. Techno brings it to his eye level, extending his arms out to the boy with the weapon as an offering. 

“Then, Tommy,” the emperor asks slowly, cautiously. Tommy sucks in a breath.

“Will you accept the blade?”


	3. Op. 48: III. Valse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the pawn moves forward and attempts to take the king  
> but even so, there are only so many spaces a pawn can move before it gets overtaken...

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THIRD MOVEMENT: NO. 1

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They leave when dawn breaks from the horizon’s grasp two days later after their conversation. In Tommy’s hands is the diamond sword in which he fastens to his hip, the heaviness of the blade solacing him. His fingers brush against the leather of the satchel given to him as they fasten the buttons together with a satisfying click. Tommy runs through all the items needed in his head over once more, murmuring under his breath just when the doors to the chamber swing open.

A gust of wind sweeps his bangs to the side, and he brushes them to the side hastily, crossing things off his mental list. There’s the booming sound of wings cracking the sound barrier, followed by a smug, “You owe me two gapples.” 

The clacking of hooves against the floor resonates around the empty room. A sigh. “You already knew you would win, Phil, there was literally no point of having that race.” The horse from behind lets out a snort of agreement. 

“Oh, Tommy. Sorry, we didn’t see you there earlier.” Phil ruffles his wings, tucking them behind him. 

Tommy throws his satchel over his shoulder and underneath his arm, adjusting the strap so it doesn't slip off, hands shaking slightly. He picks up an elegant dagger laying on the table at his side, given to him by Techno the night before, easing it into the sheath on his left hip. “It’s fine. I was just going through last-minute preparations, anyway.” It surprises him how steady he’s able to keep his voice from wavering. It sounds more confident than the feeble, fleeting, paranoid voice in his head. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to take any of the minions with you?” Techno inquires, jumping off the horse. 

Tommy shakes his head, bangs brushing against his forehead. He shoves it to the side hastily. “It’s my fight, Techno. I have to do this myself. It- It won’t feel the same if I don’t.” And it’s true. Stubborn as he is, or stuck up maybe, Tommy knows that it’s his duty to take back L’Manburg and reunite with all its citizens as the rightful president. Wilbur left the responsibility to him, and he would accomplish the task -- alone. 

“Ready, then?” Phil speaks up, gesturing with a jerk of his chin at the portal erected outside the back doors. 

Tommy shifts unsteadily on his feet, throat dry and palms sweating. He wipes them discreetly on his pants under the cover of his cape, curling them into fists to stop the uncontrollable trembling. 

“Yes.” 

Techno folds his arms together. “Alright then. The trip will take no more than one day with the portal in our hands. Phil will be your escort, and the both of you will be left fifty kilometers from L’Manburg’s entrance. That’s approximately one and a half hours to walk, so to save you both the trouble, you’ll be taking Carl with you as well, but only him as to not draw attention to ourselves.” He turns to Tommy, the darkened stare of the boar mask drilling into his eyes. “Once you’re at spawn, you’re on your own, got it?” 

Tommy nods his head briskly. He licks his chapped lips, breathing out a cloud of white when he exhales. _In and out. In and out. Calm yourself._

Techno gestures at Phil. “Lead the way.” 

There’s a gentle snowfall when they arrive outside, boots leaving deep prints in the ground. The portal, to Tommy’s amazement, is larger than he expected it to be. When he stands next to it, it’s nearly double his height, thrumming with a lukewarm kind of energy that compels him to step through the swirling mass of translucent purple. Running his hands down the jagged obsidian used to create the magnificent structure, Tommy admires the pulsing fuschia veins carved into the rock. A light shock travels down his arm at contact, and he shudders, taking a step back from the gateway. 

Phil appears next to him then with Carl, throwing a couple of bags of materials needed for the trip over the saddle before offering a hand to help Tommy up. The latter takes the advisor’s hand and throws his legs over the back of the horse. Once he’s settled in, Phil gathers the reins in one hand and starts tugging the creature to the portal. 

“Tommy.” 

The boy looks over his shoulder, craning his neck to see the dark red of Techno’s attire against the blinding white background. 

“Good luck,” the emperor says, bringing a hand up to his forehead in a salute.

A part of Tommy squirms with warmth at the sight of the hand signal he was so used to communicating with back in L’Manburg. He dips his head in acknowledgement, mimicking the action. 

That’s the last he sees of the castle and the snow. When he opens his eyes, he’s back in the lands he had grown up in, the same as ever, as if it had been stuck in time for the entirety of Tommy’s stay at the Antarctic Empire. The skies are cloudy, casting a ghastly feeling across the lush rolling hills peeking through the tops of the swaying forest trees.

“You can either go on horseback through the woods to save your energy or walk with me. Shame we can’t fly or we’ll be seen,” Phil says, holding a hand up to look at the vast forest they’ll have to travel through. 

“I’ll walk for now. Save Carl some strength for later.” Tommy hops off the horse, stroking its mane gently before Phil tugs it along. 

The forest, for one, is foggy, the sun’s faint rays unable to reach the ground and break its congregation. So they wade through the ferns and undergrowth, eyes squinting at the far distance. It’s not so bad, Tommy thinks to himself as he bats away the persistent flies and makes his way over a mossy decaying tree trunk. 

They continue in silence for a long while, conversation imminent but Tommy dares not to start one, instead dragging his gaze over the dirt and fallen leaves. A gale of wind brushes past them, slithering between the branches and making Carl huff out, stomping his hooves. 

“We’re almost halfway through,” Phil speaks up, startling Tommy a bit. “We can take a break at the lake that should be around here somewhere.” 

Tommy gives a small nod, muttering out a choppy, “Okay.” 

Phil flashes him a weak smile just as they walk off the trail, descending past a thicket, and not a moment later, the boy catches sound of a flock of birds that descend down toward the massive lake he faces. Their wings beat against the water, plunging down into the depths of the waves. Ice capped mountains rise from the trees, looming over the plains. 

“We’ll break here for several minutes before continuing. I’m sure you and Carl are thirsty.” Phil pats the horse on the neck, giving it permission to wander around. He hands Tommy a canister, gesturing at him to fill it up. 

The water glistens under the afternoon sunlight which beats down upon Tommy’s back when he bends over to scoop up the water and take a sip. He lets out a satisfied sigh once the liquid hits the back of his throat and quenches his thirst, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Phil sits next to him on the riverbank, stretching his wings and staring at the silhouettes of salmon who wandered too close to the rocks. Tommy catches a loose feather drifting downward, lifting up to his eyes and studying the black strands, dragging a finger down the plume. Quietly, he places it in his satchel carefully. 

“Hey, Tommy.” 

Tommy’s shoulders stiffen at the mention of his name, hands gripping the strap of his bag tightly. “Yeah?” 

“Sit down,” Phil pats the rock next to him. “I want to tell you something.” 

The tops of his shoes touch the lake’s glassy surface, sending ripples in all directions and disrupting the serenity of the water’s edge. He makes himself comfortable, placing two hands behind him to support his weight. Phil’s wings brush against his shoulder, and he finds himself nearly leaning into its warmth. 

“I want to apologize,” is what Phil says first. The second apology Tommy’s heard this month. He presses his lips together. “I was… a horrible father to you three.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” The words slip from Tommy’s tongue faster than he can catch them, tumbling out into the open. His eyes flit over to the advisor’s face, waiting for his expression to shift from melancholic to one of hurt.

It doesn’t happen, for Phil barks out a laugh that echoes around the area and chases all the salmon away. He rubs his face with a hand, pressing his fingers into his eyes. Tommy turns away, embarrassed that he’s said what he did to his (or who once was) his father. 

“I can’t say you’re wrong, Tommy, I really can’t. It just… all went wrong somewhere. In the middle of everything that happened, something just went wrong.” Phil tilts his head up to the sky, closing his eyes and basking in the gentle heat of the sunlight. “I should have been better. I should have played a better father. But when Techno took the crown, I just _had_ to follow him. I didn’t want to leave you and Wilbur- Look, all three of you: you, Techno, Wilbur, were all pieces of shit, okay?” 

Tommy can’t help the grin that tugs at his lips, peals of laughter resonating in the air when he wheezes out a laugh, clutching his stomach. Phil chuckles along with him, unable to contain his own. 

“All of you were little pieces of shit,” Phil continues, licking his lips. “But I loved you all equally, all the same. You were all my sons, and I loved you all dearly. But when Techno secured the throne- when he secured the throne, Wilbur caught wind of it and-” He frowns slightly.

“And we ran away from home,” Tommy finishes for him. Phil nods sagely, wrapping his arms around his legs, watching the salmon swim back to the shore. 

“I gave too much attention to Techno. I did, didn’t I? I neglected you and Wilbur -- Wilbur the most. He was the eldest, so I thought he could handle things alone. But when he started vying against Techno for my attention, I knew I fucked up somewhere. I knew I didn’t give enough thought to his emotions and his thoughts. All he wanted was to make me proud of him. You knew that too, didn’t you?” 

Tommy sits in silence for a while, listening to the lapping of water and breathing in the scents of underlying sap and wet leaves and then

(he’s back in their old house, afternoon sunlight peeking past the half-open curtains, delving into the cracks of their musty floorboards. Tommy’s tending to the succulent plants they have on their crooked windowsill when Wilbur speaks, still patching himself up from the sparring session he had with Techno earlier that morning.

“Hey, Tommy,” he draws out his words, wrapping the last strand of bandage in place. “What if we run away?”

Tommy looks up from the pots, confused. “Huh?”

“We could- We could start another nation. Just you and me. Where men can emancipate and be free from the monarchy. What do you think about that?” 

“Like your stories?” Tommy lights up, exuberant. He scrambles off his bed, running toward Wilbur and clinging onto him. “We can go far, far away from home and have fun?” 

“Yes, we can. We’ll have a country all to ourselves, wouldn’t that be nice?” 

The boy tugs at Wilbur’s jacket, thinking that he’ll be able to go on an adventure with his older brother. “Me and Wilby will go emancipate!”

Wilbur smiles fondly, but there’s a grim look in his eyes, one that Tommy doesn’t learn to understand until several years later. “Okay, Tommy, listen. Listen to me now. Here’s what I want you to do…”)

“He wanted me to take all our valuables and fucking dip from the village before you two came back home. I don’t think the village noticed much. None of our neighbors did, at least.” Tommy wrinkles his nose. “I thought it was a joke at first, that’d we go back when the sun set. But we didn’t.” 

“And Dream took you two in, didn’t he?” Phil’s shoulders sag, and he suddenly looks a thousand years older with how the sunlight drags down the shadows of the now visible bags hanging under his eyes. His voice cracks, so low that Tommy almost doesn’t catch it. “I don’t know why I didn’t go find you two. I told Techno, but he said you two would come back. And- fuck- six years passed and you guys were still missing. So I went out on my own expeditions, but I could never fucking find you two.” 

Water shifts over the rocks in a soft sweeping noise and the tranquility drowns them both underneath its waves. 

“When,” Phil starts again, sucking in a staggering breath, “when Techno found you in that cave, I just- I just broke down. So relieved, Tommy. So fucking relieved. I thought you were dead after Techno pronounced Wilbur’s death in the throne room. I thought you fucking died with him, but you didn’t. I would have confronted you then, but I couldn’t face the fact that I had abandoned you and that maybe you’d be so fucking mad at me because of my shitty attitude back then. So I didn't say anything.” 

“Techno was keeping tabs on us this entire time?” Tommy draws a circle into the dirt, brown caking underneath his fingernail. “That son of a bitch.” 

“I should have known, too, really. The fucker- His neglectance and overlooking the disappearance of you and Wilbur… Shoulda fucking known he had already traced you two down.” 

They lapse into silence once more, Phil’s feathers ruffling against the wind and Tommy brushes his bangs back, parting his mouth slightly. 

“I forgive you, Phil,” Tommy says finally after a moment's hesitance. “I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Phil says. “I’m not sure if Wilbur would forgive me as easily as you did… I just wish I had a chance to talk things over with him before-” A pause. “But now he’s gone.”

“I’m- I’m sure Will would- He would forgive you, I reckon. If you were able to explain things, he would have.”

Phil stands up, brushing off the dirt from his robes. The smile that makes its way onto his face is wistful, eyes half-lidded while he fixes his hat. “Hopefully so. We’ll meet again one day, I suppose.” The words fall heavy with regret, barely above a whisper, taken away by the wind and swept into the skies. “But for now, we need to get going.” 

Tommy stands, squeezing the fatigue out of his arms and legs as he stretches them out. They find Carl shortly, Phil taking the reins as they return to the depths of the forest, sunlight disappearing from above them and instead dappling the undergrowth with spots of white. No words are shared throughout the rest of the trip, but Tommy keeps close to Phil’s side, bumping his shoulder against his father’s occasionally. 

It’s peaceful, to say the least. They follow a stream that trickles the opposite way, water gurgling against the rocks and healthy plants. Tommy takes it all in and lets himself enjoy the moment of silence and comfort of having another person travel next to him before he’s left on his own again. 

They reach the end of the forest soon enough. 

Vast rolling plains filled with long blades of grass expand before Tommy’s eyes, rippling with a dark green as the breeze runs through it. They’ve made it through the trees, and from here, Tommy can faintly see the tall flag of L’Manburg -- a faint outline against the impossible blues of the sky. 

“We can go from here on horseback.” Phil extends an arm toward Tommy, helping boost the boy up onto the saddle. “We’ll be there in the nick of time.” 

Tommy says nothing, only wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist and leaning into his back, pressing his cheek against the fabric. Phil kicks Carl’s flank once, and they’re off, galloping through the fields of daisies and peonies littered in constellations across the area. 

The last stretch of the trip is the last time Tommy’s able to forget everything and let go of himself before he braces himself for the view of L’Manburg. And oh-

It’s changed. A lot. 

The walls he built with his own hands alongside that of Wilbur are gone, absolutely torn down to the ground, not even a trace remaining. His nation, now open for all eyes to see, caravan demolished and in its place are elements of some sort of festival. Worst of all, the thing that catches Tommy’s eyes and makes him shrivel back in terror is the flag. Gone is the usual blue, red, and yellow flag that represented their nation, now replaced with obsidian as dark as that of the nether portal he returned through. 

Carl stops in his tracks behind a couple of trees veiling them from the view of the country. Phil hops off, and Tommy, with his heart in his throat, does the same. 

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Phil says in a hushed tone. 

Tommy swallows, hand subconsciously moving toward the handle of his sword. “There isn’t a choice, Phil. I have to.” 

“There’s still time to turn back.”

“I can’t. Not when I’ve made it this far. It’s for Wilbur.”

“You can still decide not to-”

Tommy shakes his head aggressively. “You don’t understand, Phil. I- I’ll leave now. Thank you. Thank you for coming with me, big man.”

Phil’s mouth folds into a frown. Tommy turns around to face the glittering lights illuminating the incoming deep hues of early evening. 

“Hey.” A warm hand places itself onto his shoulder, stopping Tommy before he can go. “Hold on. I may not be able to change your mind; you’re always so fucking obstinate, Tommy, so obstinate. But let me give you something.” 

Tommy turns around, now facing Phil as the man rummages through his robes, pulling out a small black box. He hands it to the boy, urging him to take it. 

“Open it.”

“What- What is it?” Tommy looks meticulously at the box, hands feeling every inch of it. 

“A parting gift. An apology for not being able to go on with you. I wish I could, Tommy, I really do. But in the end-” His lips press together in a thin line. “It’ll keep you safe, though, I’ll promise you that. A reminder that I’m always here with you.”

Inside the box is a green amulet made of clean-cut emerald resting in the dips of the cushioning cotton around it. Tommy removes it from the box with care, letting the jewel dangle from its chain. Phil takes it from his hands, wrapping the chain around Tommy’s neck and fastening it so that the gem lies comfortably above his chest.

“Thank you,” Tommy breathes out again, running his fingers over the smooth green stone. He tucks it into his shirt, the cold metal resting against his skin. “Really, Phil, I-”

Large wings wrap around the boy, bringing him close to Phil’s embrace as Tommy feels himself being hugged affectionately. A tiny bit of him crumbles, and his hands clutch at Phil’s robe, gathering the fabric in handfuls because by the gods- it’s so, so, so warm.

They part after a prolonged while, the benign sensation of a fatherly hug still lingering in Tommy’s arms. 

“Well, then, I guess, I’ll see you.” Phil gives the boy a bright grin, but his eyes are filled with woe and remorse, and Tommy realizes how hard it must be for Phil to let Tommy go; to lose another son in the hands of war and brutality. 

Tommy lets out a shuddering breath, throwing his hood on. He pivots on his foot, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his bottom lip hard. Then, he begins his descent to L’Manburg, sword at hip and heart in his mouth.

“Stay safe, Tommy.” 

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SECOND MOVEMENT: NO. 2

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“You are aware that you sent a _child_ to a one-man war, right?”

Not even a beat of silence or ounce of hesitation before, “And?” 

“A _child_ , Techno. You sent Tommy, who’s barely eighteen years of age to assassinate the president of his home country.” 

There’s a low chuckle, golden apple gleaming into Phil’s eyes from where Techno holds it. “It was his choice to go to battle himself. I asked him, Phil, if he wanted my aid, and he politely declined. What more do you want me to do?” 

“You could at least send back up for when the mission fails,” Phil suppresses his anger, speaking as calmly as he can. “Have someone look after him if something goes wrong.” 

“Would you volunteer yourself, then?” 

“Of fucking course! He’s my son, too, Techno. And you know how bad he’s faring after Wilbur’s death.” 

“Wilbur’s death, hm? It’s none of my concern at the moment, but I do have to say, it played quite a large part in helping to persuade Tommy to go back to L’Manburg and kill Schlatt.”

Phil hits the wooden table with both his hands, chair squealing against the marble tiles as he shoots up from his seat. “His blood will be on your hands, Techno. Another one of your brothers will be lost. You’ll have a Tommy’s blood all over your fingers and you’ll never be able to wash it off.” 

Techno crosses his legs. “It’s too late to change things, though. You know his mind is set. You know he’s not going to back away from what he feels he needs to do.”

“That was because you fucking manipulated him to think that way!” Phil’s nails dig into the wood, chipping the surface of the table. Techno pays his anger no heed, instead taking an ample bite from the golden apple. He swallows the fruit, letting out a sigh. 

“No matter what you say,” he starts, rotating the apple in his hand to catch his reflection in it, “I will not allow you to stop the domino effect. You already accompanied Tommy until the spawn point. And I take it that you tried to change his mind, but he said no to that? Predictable. You’ve tried, then, and he still pressed forward. Well, that’s enough done already, and that’s all I’m allowing you to do, understood?” 

Phil purses his lips, opening his mouth to speak. Techno places a finger to his lips, tossing the apple into the air and catching it. The advisor shuts his mouth, infuriated. 

“Listen, Phil.” Techno pinches the apple’s stem, letting the half bitten fruit dangle from between his fingers. “[Let me tell you a story, Phil. A story about a man named Theseus. His country -- well, his city-state technically -- was in danger. And he sent himself forward into enemy lines. He slayed the minotaur and saved his city. And you know what they did to him, Phil? They exiled him. He died in disgrace, despised by his people. That’s what happens to heroes, Phil. The Greeks knew the score. So if the kid wants to be a hero, Phil, that’s fine.](https://youtu.be/_5Sd6StYI3A?t=7901)

He’ll just die like one on the battlefield, the duty he so wanted to uphold to please Wilbur washed away with the blood he would spill, either his own or that of his enemy’s. There’s no saving him now; I’m sure you understand that. He’s dead set on reclaiming L’Manburg. He is an unwavering mountain, and you are nothing but the northern winds. You cannot move him when he has his sights set on his goals. Fidelity will be his downfall.” 

“You-”

“So what I want you to do now, Phil, is to prepare the minions for war in five days' time. Gather all the resources needed. Have them meet me near the nether portal on the fifth day.”

Realization dawns on Phil at that moment, the last piece of the puzzle placing itself in place as Techno’s plans come together in his head. His words falter, mouth going dry and throat constricting. He draws back in both astoundment and utter fear.

“You’re going to-”

The smile Techno gives is sordid and full of malice, the shadows flung across his mask and face flickering violently. Phil staggers to the side as Techno walks past him, chucking the rest of the golden apple into the snarling fire. The flames explode in tongues of yellow and red and orange, sparks flying onto the ground and crawling hastily up the chimney. The emperor watches the flames burn wildly, still donning the same diabolical grin.

“We have a country to conquer.” 

__

_****_

SECOND MOVEMENT: NO. 3

_****_

_**  
**  
_

.

.

.

Tommy runs in the shadows, keeping his face hidden under the hood of his cape, his sword bumping against his side as he moves past the crevices between buildings. He has to get to the White House. Schlatt will be there, definitely. There’s no other place to go, right? Well, even if Tommy doesn’t find the president there, he’ll continue looking; there aren’t that many bases in Dream’s land. As long as he stays undetected and uncaught, he can spend as much time as he needs. Of course, time is of the essence, but better safe than sorry in his mission.

So far, the area is empty, devoid of anything but the light of lanterns hanging on the building walls. They blotch the ground with bright oranges, moths fluttering around its light, yearning to touch the flames inside. The sun sinks behind the mountains, leaving only silhouettes in its wake, and Tommy’s vision is obscured by the incoming darkness.

He curses silently, wishing he’d brought a night vision potion of some sort. Just as he stops to let his eyes adjust to the scenery, there’s the sound of multiple footsteps to the right of him. Tommy jumps, fingers instantly digging through his satchel for the invisibility potion he’d been supplied with. He downs it in a swig. 

“The festival is honestly one of the best things that’s happened to Manburg since Schlatt took over, don’t you think, Tubbo?” 

Tubbo.

Tommy looks to his side, watching as his best friend appears from around the corner, flanked by Fundy. It’s been such a long time since he’s seen Tubbo -- Big T seems to look more mature, wearing an abhorrent suit and tie, L’Manburg outfit disposed of. 

“Yeah.” Tubbo’s lips draw into a smile that doesn’t reach his ears. “Schlatt’s been pretty generous lately, really.” 

“In five days, everyone’s going to come together! Dream, Quackity, Punz, Niki, you, me, everyone else!”

Tubbo hums in agreement, and it takes all of Tommy’s strength not to rush toward the other and wrap his arms around him and tell Tubbo that he’s here -- Tommy’s here, he’s alive, he’s not dead. His fingernails dig into his palms when the pair disappears into the nearby building, Fundy’s tail being the last thing he sees before the door shuts behind them. 

He opens his mouth, so, so tempted to run after Tubbo, but he withstands the feeling and grits his teeth. After he finds Schlatt, then he can reunite with Tubbo. But not right now -- he can’t risk it. 

He’ll come back for Tubbo once he finishes what he has to do, Tommy promises to himself, giving the door a last fleeting look. He will, definitely. 

Turning back to the path toward the White House, Tommy can see the top of the structure peeking from the darkened skyline. The lanterns inside are lit, indicating that, indeed, Schlatt is most likely still awake. 

His invisibility potion is wearing off by the time he gets to the entrance of the White House, his hand blinking into view in front of him. Tommy takes a deep breath, grabbing the handle and pushing the doors far enough to the point where he can slip in, undetected. 

There are no guards, no locks, no nothing. Nothing is preventing him from infiltrating Schlatt’s place, and although that’s certainly uncanny, it is lucky that he’s able to enter the place under the guise of stealth.

“Hello.” 

Tommy jumps a foot in the air, unsheathing his sword in a matter of seconds. He holds it in front of himself, arms like that of a newborn fawn’s legs, unsteady and straining under the burden of the blade.

A tangible gap resides between him and Schlatt, who sits with his legs crossed, horns polished, eyes slanted. 

And there Tommy is, standing face to face with him. The president of L’Manburg is still as tall and as intimidating as Tommy remembered him since election day, towering over him even from the front of the room. 

“Seems like you’re still alive,” Schlatt says, eyes a livid red that fixates on Tommy. 

“Yeah, no fucking shit. Like I’d die by your filthy hands so easily.” 

Schlatt ignores him blatantly, picking at his nails. “Let me guess what you’re here for. Revenge. Well, it’s either that or fucking murder. Nothing in between.” 

“I-”

“We still have his body, you know?” Schlatt presses on, not giving the other any time to speak. “We haven’t disposed of his body yet; thought maybe you’d want to see him before he goes, right?” 

Schlatt is absolutely delighted at the sight of Tommy’s jaw going slack and the grip on his sword loosening, the president’s callous smile widening tenfold. 

“Is this some sort of fucking joke?” Tommy spits out, almost letting his guard down. “Stop fucking with me Schlatt. You fucking killed Wilbur. You killed him! You didn't even-” 

“Tommy, Tommy. It wasn’t something I did. He was just there at the wrong time, wrong place. I didn’t kill him. He killed himself.” 

Tommy sees only a flash of hot white before he’s charging at Schlatt, the tip of his diamond sword leveled at the president’s neck. He sweeps it back in an arc, only to hit the table when the man dodges. The weapon embeds itself into the wood, biting down hard. 

“You fucking coward,” Tommy snarls, pressing a foot against the desk to pull out the blade. “Fight me like a man, dipshit.” 

Schlatt looks somewhat fazed, the threatening grin he had on his face seconds prior slipping. Despite Tommy’s ferocity, he continues spouting filler words from his mouth. “Never knew your swordsmanship was that shitty, boy. Hasn’t Wilbur taught you better?” 

Tommy lurches at Schlatt, bringing the sword into glass and shattering it. He doesn’t hear himself scream curses at the president. What lies within him is only unadulterated fury that hisses and howls loudly, running through Tommy’s veins and bringing adrenaline hither.

“Shut the _fuck_ up about Wilbur, you motherfucker! Stop pretending like you know him!” 

Another lamp is broken. At this point, Tommy swings the blade wildly with the aim of Schlatt and Schlatt only. His shoulders are beginning to become sore from the wide motions and the weight of the sword, but Tommy pushes through the ache, teeth bared. 

“Fight me Schlatt! You- You-”

Not even a heartbeat after the words shot out of his mouth, Schlatt kicks him square in the stomach, sending the boy stumbling back. His breath is temporarily knocked out of him when he lands forcefully on his back. The sword flies from his grip, landing with a muffled thump against the carpeted floor. A tight pain nestles itself into Tommy’s abdomen, his stomach screaming when he tries to get up. 

Schlatt takes this chance to bend over and pick up the sword. Tommy doesn’t let him. He lets out a loud grunt, kicking the blade to the side so far that it skitters across the carpet to the back of the other end of the room. He knees Schlatt in the face right after. Teetering on his feet as he stands up, Tommy watches as the president doubles over in pain while clutching his nose. 

“You son of a bitch!” The president garbles out, a fountain of blood already pouring down his face and dribbling between his fingers. Dark circles of ruby red splatter onto the white carpet.

“I should be saying the same to you.” Tommy reaches into the depths of his cape and draws out a silver dagger into the light. The flicker of fear in Schlatt’s eyes fills the boy with bloodlust, mind chanting: kill, kill, kill.

“Go ahead and end me, Tommy.” Schlatt’s throat bobs, his eyes never leaving that of the other’s. “Go ahead and end me. I bet you can’t, right?”

The hand in which he holds the dagger goes numb. It’s no longer part of his body. A separate entity now, with a mind of its own as it lifts upward, the tip of the weapon gleaming happily. Tommy can see the blade in Schlatt’s eyes, waiting to be brought down into his chest.

“You can’t,” Schlatt continues speaking through his broken nose. “You can’t because you’re a fucking coward, aren’t you, Tommyinnit? A huge ass coward is what you are, trying to assassinate an unarmed man. Where the fuck did your honor go?” 

“Shut up.” Tommy covers his ears, suddenly feeling nauseous at the dark red stains on the ground. The same red he’d seen that day on the grass, in Wilbur’s clothes, pooling in his nightmares. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!” 

Schlatt lets out a choked laugh. “Wilbur would know better than to attack an innocent person like me.” 

Tommy _lunges_ at the president not even a second later with madness consuming his vision and dying all sights around him with an electric white. He doesn’t hear the doors slamming open or the shout of his name before sinking his dagger into flesh -- flesh that isn’t Schlatt’s. 

When he snaps out of his trance, his hands are trembling weakly. He releases his grip on the weapon. More of that hideous red spirals into fabric that’s coloured a shade of all-too-familiar green. 

He’s met with pain-stricken eyes, staring back at him half-lidded. 

“Tubbo…?” 

Tubbo clutches his stomach, blood dripping from between his lips, bubbling at the corners. They curve into a slight smile before he collapses onto his side, knees bringing themselves to his chest.

“Tubbo!” Tommy falls onto his knees, hands hovering frantically over his friend’s body. Tubbo’s skin is starting to turn into the same shade of pale white Wilbur had when he was struck. “No, no, no, no, no-”

“Now look what you’ve done,” Schlatt mutters. “You’ve best yourself now.” 

“YOU!” Tommy plants himself in front of Tubbo’s body, shielding it from Schlatt. “YOU DID THIS!” 

“I did, maybe, or maybe I didn’t. You were the one who stuck the dagger into Tubbo, not me.” 

“You fucking-” 

“Tommy,” Tubbo whispers behind him in an exhausted voice. “Tommy, it’s cold.” 

“Tubbo? Tubbo? Can you hear me? Tubbo?” The boy can only ease Tubbo onto his back, helpless in anything else. “Tubbo, big man, hang on, hang on. I’ll get you help. I’ll-”

Two people barge into the room, swords unsheathed. 

“What the-” Quackity says, just as surprised as Fundy is. “Tubbo?” 

“It’s cold, Big Q.” Tubbo’s glazed eyes move to the secretary of state. “It’s-”

“Holy shit.” Quackity rushes to the boy, elevating Tubbo’s head on his arm. “What the fuck happened?” 

Tommy’s immobile even when Fundy grabs the collar of his cape and jerks him upward onto unsteady legs. He feels his arms being pulled behind him in a constraint. 

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I didn’t- IT WASN’T ME!” he hollers, struggling to break free from the hand on his wrists. “I DIDN’T FUCKING DO IT!” 

His anguished cries fall onto deaf ears as he’s dragged out into the night, eyes filled with burning tears.

The last sight he sees before he’s knocked out is the livid red of Schlatt’s baleful eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if only techno gave tommy magic artillery (read: gun) then the fic would have been a lot shorter
> 
> but he didn't :|


	4. Op 48: IV. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> checkmate.

_**FOURTH MOVEMENT: NO. 1** _

.

.

.

Tommy wakes up with a throbbing pain in his skull, shoulder pressed against a cold, hard wall. For a split second, he thinks he’s back in the cave and panics. But when he catches light splitting through the bars (bars?) keeping him in from the outside, he remembers what he’s done.

It comes down onto him in a torrent. The temperature drops. He’s cold, left alone in this- this- this whatever it is (a cell maybe? A tiny, tiny cell that seems to press against him every passing second). 

His cape is the only thing he has left, sword, dagger, and satchel stripped from him when he was thrown in most likely. Tommy raises his chilly fingers to his mouth, breathing hot breaths onto them to warm them up. It doesn’t work as well as he expects, and he curls into a ball, hugging his cape closer. 

When he pulls his hands away to tilt his head to the ceiling, he sees blood. 

There’s blood on Tommy’s hands, caked under his fingernails, and a bright liquid red that stains his palms. He lets out a yelp, wiping them on the walls, trying to get them off, get them off. The boy rubs his hands raw against the stone, but he feels nothing from the numbness of it. 

He raises his hands to his eyes again, and there is no more blood. There is no blood on the walls either. Surely, Tommy thinks, his eyes must be betraying him. There was no blood on his hands to begin with, right? 

“I see you’re awake.” 

Tommy’s lips are sealed together as he turns his head toward the bars. It’s Schlatt. 

“You fucked yourself over this time, Tommy,” he says, shaking his head. The man’s shadow drapes across the wooden floor, and Tommy springs toward the metal, pulling at it with all his might. He sticks his face between the poles, the same unbridled rage kindling again in his chest. 

“You did this,” he hisses. “You killed him.”

“I simply do not know what you're talking about.”

“You fucking _killed_ him, you damn _monster_.” 

The same words come out of his mouth, pinning themselves on Schlatt, the scapegoat. He’s the one to blame for all this. All Tommy’s suffering over the past two months -- it was Schlatt’s fault. He wouldn’t even be here if the man hadn't won the election and killed Wilbur. He wouldn’t have stabbed Tubbo (oh gods, he _stabbed_ Tubbo; the warmth fading away from his body and his eyes- Tubbo’s eyes-)

“I told you before -- I didn’t kill him. You did. And for that-”

Tommy’s breath stops short in his chest. He falls back on his elbows as a crow lets out a shriek of laughter from outside his cell when Schlatt finishes his sentence.

“-your public execution will be in four days' time. I hope you’ll be prepared then.” 

Without a further farewell, the president leaves Tommy, not even sparing a glance when the boy yells at him in curses and all words vulgar. 

\------

The days after blend together, and Tommy spends most of his time either sleeping or watching the sun set and rise. It’s always so cold in the cell -- his meals are frigid to the tongue, his hands aren’t able to heat up no matter how much he rubs them together, and the sun’s rays which touch the stone floor lack warmth. 

He’s trapped in his thoughts most of the days leading up to his execution, thinking of when they had snowball fights while building L’Manburg’s walls, when they’d sit around the campfire and sing merry little tunes, when everything was peaceful and, well, when Tommy was Tommy. Other times, he doesn’t feel connected to himself, always staring at the right hand he used to plunge the dagger into Tubbo’s body, its skin cracked and peeling off. 

Tommy thinks he’s deteriorating by the end of the nth day. It could have been three days, or maybe four, or was it two? He can’t remember. There have been too many suns and moons that passed and stars and clouds he wasn’t able to reach. But then again, it’s not like he wishes to remember how many days are left before his execution. 

Ah… his execution. His _public_ execution. Dying in front of a crowd in the hands of this shitty dictator, unable to fulfill Wilbur’s wishes. The thought of it nearly sends him over the edge in hysterics, and Tommy drags his dirty fingers over his face, trying to feel something, anything. All there is, in the end, is the cold, cold, cold. No adrenaline boiling under his skin, no more fire to stoke. 

He’s empty. 

There’s nothing left for him to live for, nothing else for him to lose. 

On second thought, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to be publicly executed. 

Then at least, Tommy would be able to take one last look at all the people he loved before death takes him by the hand and leads him to the afterlife. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea…

The door swings open in an irritating creak. Tommy’s eyes glide to the metal bars, meeting Fundy’s gaze. 

“Hurry up,” he says, nudging at Tommy’s side as if he’d get up on command. “It’s almost festival time.” 

Oh? Tommy thinks to himself as he stands up for the first time in a while. He’d die during the festival? Not exactly the right fucking event to execute a person during. Schlatt must be out of his goddamn mind. 

His legs quake underneath his weight, arms pulled behind him like before. Tommy bets he looks like a ghost, given how Fundy’s eyes widen at the sight of the boy. He might as well be one at this point, really. 

He’s led out of his confinement and down the same wooden path Schlatt had disappeared at the end of nights before. Tommy’s eyelids droop, unable to meet the light of the far exit in front of the two. 

Before he knows it, there’s a yell that shocks him out of his thoughts, and the grip on his arms vanish. Fundy crumbles onto the floor next to him, knocked out unconscious. 

“Oh gods, I’m so glad you’re alright!” 

Tommy’s enveloped in a hug, so warm, so inviting, so comforting. He knows this voice. 

“Tubbo…?” His voice is scratched, weak from the days of being unable to talk to anyone else. “You- You’re alive-?” 

Tubbo grips Tommy firmly by the shoulders. Lively green eyes meet his own, and Tommy nearly falls to his knees right then and there. The relief he feels is unmeasurable, tears streaming down his face like uncontrolled waterfalls. He wipes them away the best he can, but they continue down his cheeks and through the cracks of his fingers. 

He’s so, so, _so_ fucking relieved. 

“Hey, hey,” Tubbo crouches next to him. “I’m here. See? Look. I’m fine. Stab wound hurt like a bitch but I’m healed now! Still kinda sore, though, not gonna lie.” 

Tommy wraps his arms around his best friend, crushing the other to his chest and crying onto his shoulder. Tubbo pats his back, murmuring the same words of ‘I’m okay’ and ‘It’s going to be alright’ as he tries to calm the hiccups escaping from Tommy’s mouth. 

“This is-isn’t fake righ-right?” Tommy sobs, clutching to Tubbo for dear life. “You- You’re real?” 

“I'm real, Big T. You’re not dreaming. I promise you this isn’t a dream. But right now we’ve got to go, Tommy. We’ve got to go quick.” Tubbo says, helping the other onto his feet. Tommy wipes the rest of his tears on his sleeve, the sense of relief still sweet as ever. He nods rapidly, facing Tubbo with red-rimmed eyes. 

“Where the hell are we going, though?”

Tubbo takes Tommy by the wrist, tugging him in the opposite direction, toward the back of the building. “Eret and Niki, they supplied us some horses. We’re going to-”

“Run away?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re going to run away. Us together. We’re going to go north. Far away from L’Manburg. We already have all we need, right? We have each other, and that’s enough-”

“No.” Tommy shakes his head, eyes zoning out on Tubbo’s hand around his arm. “I can’t just fucking run away after all Wilbur’s done. I have to stay here and reclaim L’Manburg from Schlatt.” 

“Tommy-”

“No, Tubbo, you don’t understand.” He turns to the white light at the end of the corridor, the noises of festivity drifting into his ears. “This is what Wilbur would have wanted. He would have wanted me- wanted us to take L’Manburg back.” 

“Tommy,” Tubbo says with more force, words like claws that try to grip at Tommy’s stubbornness, “Wilbur’s _dead_. He died trying to defend you, remember? He wouldn’t have wanted you to put yourself in danger again.” 

“I’m not in danger if I manage to land the first hit. Do you have a sword on you? Or-”

“You can’t just say that so casually!” Tubbo shouts, grabbing the other by the shoulders and shaking him. “‘Do you have a sword’, you can’t just say that!” 

Tommy tilts his head, dazed. He scoffs lightly. “Why not?” 

“Tommy, Tommy, listen- We promised not to raise our weapons. Heck, we’re not _supposed_ to be using weapons! Remember what Wilbur said? That we would resolve our conflicts with words rather than violence? He wouldn’t have wanted you to- to- to _kill_ Schlatt. It wouldn’t do anything! Just- Just ending his life wouldn’t- it wouldn’t do anything, Tommy!” 

“It will! It fucking will! We can avenge Wilbur, come on, Tubbo-”

“He’s dead, Tommy! Wilbur’s dead! He wouldn’t have wanted for you to avenge him! He died for _you_ Tommy! He- He- Wilbur- He-” Tubbo convulses into tears, wiping away at his face with his sleeves. “He died protecting you.” 

Tommy stops short in his tracks, arm going lax in Tubbo’s weak grip. He looks down at his shoes, the cheering at the end of the hall fading away. Wilbur is dead, he remembers. He’s dead. Schlatt killed him. Tommy should avenge him. He should, he really should. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. This isn’t fair. He can’t just walk away from the person who murdered his president and claimed the title for his own. It wasn’t right. This isn’t right; Tommy can’t run away with Tubbo right now, not until L’Manburg is theirs again. 

But did he really want to kill Schlatt?

Would it really solve anything?

Would Wilbur have wanted him to…?

“I’m sorry,” Tommy mumbles, licking his lips. “I shouldn’t have-” 

That’s right, he tells himself, glancing over his shoulder at the brown speck resembling the presidential podium. He’s the vice president of L’Manburg. They don’t use weapons in L’Manburg. Killing Schlatt wouldn’t get the approval of others. It’d only make Tommy the same thing as Schlatt is -- a murderer and a tyrant. It wouldn’t fix anything. Tubbo was right. It’s better to trust his friend over his own thoughts, right? Tommy doesn’t know what to believe in anymore. Techno’s words have influenced him, but Tubbo’s moved him to think it through thoroughly. It’s better to trust Tubbo. His judgment was always better than that of Tommy’s. 

“Okay. Okay. We’ll leave. We’ll leave L’Manburg, and- and run away.” 

Tubbo sniffles once, eyes gazing up at him in disbelief. “Really? You mean it? You’re not going to- to kill Schlatt?” 

“It’s not moral.” Tommy looks at his hands, soiled with dirt crusted on his palm and between his fingernails. “It’s not moral.” 

Taking Tubbo by the hand, he shoots the other a confident smile and leads them both down the opposite way, away from the sounds of festivity and shouting. Tubbo pushes the door open when they arrive at the exit, revealing two horses waiting for them. The bags placed on the creatures are full of supplies, and fuck- Tommy has never wanted to thank Eret and Niki this much before. 

“There’s a map in yours,” Tubbo informs him, pulling out a scroll. “It leads to a place in the north where the lands are evergreen and untouched by most people.” 

“The same fucking one Fundy told us about?”

Tubbo cracks a smile. “The exact same one.” 

“It exists, then. What the hell.” 

“Apparently. The location set already has a cabin, left by someone called-” Tubbo squints at the parchment, “-Technoblade?” 

No way in the ever-loving fuck can this be happening. 

“Holy shit.” Tommy’s mind whirls. Techno had set this all up from the beginning. It was all orchestrated by him, and he’d just been dancing under the veil of the emperor’s subtle plans. He knew that Tommy wouldn’t have been able to kill Schlatt, that his hesitance would lead to his fall. So he had another scheme planned underneath. What a massive dickhead. 

Tubbo’s already on his horse when Tommy soaks in the sudden understanding, a hand on his horse’s mane to steady himself. 

“You alright there, Tommy?” His friend’s voice is laced with concern, eyes anxious, and lips pulling into a soft frown. 

“I’m-” Tommy breathes out slowly. “I’m fine.” 

The reins are in his hands, and he can’t believe it, that they’re actually leaving L’Manburg behind. That he’s running away with Tubbo. He may have lost everything he believed in at one point, but now with Tubbo alive, _alive_ and at his side, Tommy allows himself to think that maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to start over again anew in a land far, far away. 

A land in which he’ll be free from his past ties and the bonds holding him down. A land in which he hadn’t believed in until now. 

Locking eyes with Tubbo, the boy gives a slight nod, one that Tubbo returns with a large grin. Tommy exhales through his mouth shakily.

“Let's go.”

_**FOURTH MOVEMENT: NO. 2** _

.

.

.

Techno sees the towering buildings of Dream’s land and L’Manburg when he and his army teleport into view. His soldiers are armed to the teeth with weapons, but Techno himself merely holds a netherite sword at his hip.

Phil stands by his side, wind combing through his blond hair as they stand in proximity to the nation. His eyes trail to the emperor, and Techno can feel the uneasiness radiating from his advisor. 

“Relax,” he tells Phil, watching the people below scutter like ants toward the presidential podium. “All’s well that ends well.” 

“Easy for you to say.” 

“It’s nothing but the truth, Phil. Our empire has to expand at some point.” 

“Not by raiding Tommy’s country.” 

“It’s not his now, is it?” Techno grins under his mask, pulling out a black skull from the red waves of his cape. “I already promised you the one thing you wanted. And I stay true to my word.” 

He gestures to the right of the festive area, and as if on cue, two horses speed across the wooden pathway. They’re obscured by the trees a moment after, but Phil is able to make out the two people travelling out of L’Manburg. 

A sigh of relief falls through his lips, and Techno sees Phil’s shoulders slack visibly. 

“This was all part of your plan, wasn’t it?” 

“Of course it was. Come on, Phil,” Techno huffs. “I’m not that heartless.”

“I suppose you also rigged the amulet I gave Tommy?” 

Techno hums, but doesn’t give an explicit answer.

“You cheeky bastard.” 

“It’s for their safety; you know that. It’s harmless, too. Just a tiny tracker. I'm sure you’d have agreed to that too.” 

Phil shakes his head, letting out a snort of short lived amusement. “Can’t say I wouldn’t have.” 

“Glad to see you agree with me.” Techno muses, studying the skull’s eye sockets. He gives the next command without looking back at his soldiers. “Alright. You know what to do.” 

The minions get to work just as Phil cocks and angles his firework crossbow at the crowd. The black skulls come to life in a symphony of ghastly screeches, a dreadful energy emitting from their bodies.

“Annihilate everything and leave no one alive.” The emperor shows his teeth in a broad grin, aiming his sword at the unsuspecting country and its citizens. The withers answer to his call, thrumming with the need to kill and starting their road of destruction. Fireworks explode in the air with a bang, drawing out faint yelps and screams from below. Techno narrows his eyes, watching the country burn and collapse under the wrath of the Antarctic Empire.

“Checkmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hayyy thanks to those who've stuck all the way 'til the end! <3 last chapter was short cus i wanted to make it seem like it was unfinished (if you get the reference :])
> 
> this isn't exactly the end of the story though, i might write an alternate ending where tommy meets wilbur (not dead) again (spoiler: its angst again, no happy endings in this house folks. forbidden.) haven't entirely decided yet, but yeah!
> 
> thank you again! stick around for the alt end maybe :)

**Author's Note:**

> ayo i can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/yuudoufu) or as NightShade#5717 on Discord 
> 
> thanks a lot for reading :>


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